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Slight then flight, the fight had gone with the wind, the rain, and all the thunder he could muster.

This opponent would always win. She didn’t like it any more than he, but it was the way it had to be. If there ever was a someday, then maybe she would give in. But as her next of kin, I doubt she’ll ever break. Through trials, hardships, and borderline masochistic heartache, I can safely say her own idealism is the only type of need she’ll ever slake.

And therein lies the problem for those who are less than ideal : the less than perfect man.

Posted By Claire Grafton On 04.19.2012 @ 9:34 pm