Monday, October 19, 2009

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Every time I see those three syllables (five, when expanded fully), my stomach falls out my butt.

I realize that is the exact opposite of eloquence, but there's nothing eloquent about how I feel. Unrequited love sucks. Sucks sucks sucks. Like a vacuum cleaner.

Tonight I embrace all of literature's cliché metaphors for love.
I'm starting to think I've turned into a cliché myself.
Please, somebody save me from banality.

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