i sit an i marinate in his words, and my own duality is pleased - both halves, what is palatable, and what is evanescent like vapor, shake with excitement, and the sureness of a decision made. as if he is my kin, as if he is sure of my sureness, he arrives. he is beautiful.
Aviator, you take too much time to ponder,
The season of Spring you seem to squander.
You need to stop and listen to me,
I'm showing you things, but you refuse to see.
You put so much weight in physicality,
But ignore the purest of purrrr-ity.
It is our hearts that endear us to angels,
The coming of Fall brings with is archangels.
i listen.
Aviator, don't just stare at me!
Remember the things I said about the key?
Do you even understand the knowledge I have to impart?
Your insolence means it's time for me to depart.
It is with much anger and malice that I leave
In my absence together these pieces you can weave!
his words, like the most graceful of dancers and the prettiest of songs, find their way into my heart, and i know this is as it should be. "it is our hearts that endear us to angels" - his words in my memory as if recorded on a tape, they go round and round, again and again. thank-you 7959962 for these words. i know that 7959962 is right, and i know that in my heart is him, and i know, as i too walk that very same line, that this line is love.
love is purity; endearing us to angels.
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