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The selective process of finding a partner isn't methodical. It's a series of accidents, but if you are discerning, if you know what you don't want and some things you do, you can be selective. And god willing it works in your favour. The problem is that you can't know all the factors. The goal is to continue to choose the right thing with the information you have. I was never selective enough. I followed too many wandering paths, I chose unwisely out of fear instead of out of confidence. It came off as arrogance in those times. I won't do that again. Unfortunately I can't show that to you because you've chosen another path. You've chosen to be selective with your energies and your time, and I don't fit into that. Not right now, and likely never again.
I wish I would have been more selective with what I chose to fight about. I wish you could be more selective with where you choose to put your energies right now. To select something is to show dedication to it. To select it shows it holds a certain importance. I would like to have selected you more. I wish I had the opportunity to do so now. I wish I would have been more selective with my words to your brother. I am sorry.
We were jumping on the ice for hours. And we had been doing it for hours for years. And then it was not the same as it had been for years. He jumped and the river smiled. Not the kind of smile you would like to see. But one that creaked and cracked around him.
She turnd to me. It had been the first time all day. I suppose I had not been expecting it because I just continued to look her in the eye, gawking. Then she smiled. As if in some way to let me know my appreciation of her beauty was okay. And she welcomed it. I will not forget that day. I will not forget how kind she would become.
The steeple poked from behind the trees as its bells accompanied the whine of the wind from the coast. Today was a day everyone who had avoided their god for the past year would come to face him. In the least each would give his or her condolences to their creator for his/her loss.
He inteneded to divulge the ideas he had harboured behind the barriers of his conscious mind. To them it would seem ridiculous. Could they apprehend the notions he was so pushed to reveal. To illuminate with such harshness. Societies could collapse. On the Origin of Species might kill God.
The brush apprehended the suspected victim as he scurried through the woods. Behind him was his predator. A chase ensued upon confrontation. It had been like little else he had experienced. He looked into the loch and there it stood as a reflection. His silhouette.
It was different. Mostly because of simplicity. But maybe there was an understanding. The way we lived. The ideas we held. Maybe the universe held a truth to it that we could observe. Then our ideations got in the way. Then we began to create a god.
Sharply creased tan and blue. Quaker in nature and covered in cotton wool. Black and white whit. Building blocks of perfection. Mere seats for the spunk. But no seat like the tattered threads and bad design of his comfortable origins. Here he realized the mistake in a choice for bland.
Look around me. The green and reds, and above me, the blue and reds. I never knew anyone to look at me. I end up being but a pain, getting under their skin. I never intend it to be the way it is, but I can't help but hurt others, it's just the way I was made. I am but a thorn.
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