June 19th, 2002 - 1:20 a.m.

Some things just must be said.

Ah, to capture the feeling generated by evening strolls home. The measured slow gait. Fingers intertwined. All of beauty and joy distilled into one gesture that annihilates all else. Nothing but pure black space, stretching far past the horizon.

A calculated sweetness. Astounding tenderness. Seconds of abandon and forever.

Is. So. Perfect.

Waiting for something, anything, to mar. But, nothing.

N.

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