For You, I Prose like Shakespeare and Sh*t

Alas, my muse! Many lives have I awaited your return. Without surprise, such countless days were starting to become a bore. Time, now just halted injustice captured by delayed damnation. The cruel isolation of despair; the cruel despair of isolation. A fool’s gamble it would be to refute the mundane aura present in these lifeless waters. In utopia you left the sweet burn of enjoyment in my mind to precede your vanish. Weathered trouble it has been to justify your retreat to my injured heart. With credence, witness how the absence of your gravity afloat me in an infinity of you-related query. Abandoned, I remain disarmed by the slow torture of my memory, an eternity in your keep. If I may, please allow me to share with you a prophet’s truth, your undoubted secret — In a world so calculable, reunion with your fellowship is worth more than gold.

If it is my turn, I leave this as my only wish: Reward mine effort with a rescue I too may keep. Share a story of your own delight with me, would ya?

Your audience, I am ever bound to be.

Vidale Barsir
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