Sunday, November 26, 2006


It's dark again. A chill crosses the vast expanse of the land. He sits out on the porch, with words running circles in his head. Words which he cannot say. Words which he failed to utter when it mattered most. A man of few regrets, he is. Just that one regret is enough to kill his spirit. That one person that mattered.

He left the bright lights of the city. His worldly possesions turned into cash. He lives off the land now. Not entirely true, that. Accumulated wealth would last a long time. But he just wants to plant with his own bare hands, everyday rows of sunflowers would bloom. Her favourite. His tribute to her. Too late, but at least he tried.


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