Vidal's Verse

I am still haunted by memories and feelings that should have long ago passed. The problematic curse of an almost perfect memory. Do I remember the days perfectly or do I remember her as being perfect?

These are just stories told poetically. This is a place for my words to live. Some lead good lives and others not so much. I would call these Poetic Stories. 

Some Day, Mon Petit Chou, We'll Have the Clouds

You are self immolation. The quietest of storms. A cloud growing and growing until it can no longer hold itself together. Spilling and emptying itself over time until it has given itself completely over to nothingness. Its only promise, to help sustain life. What I mean to say is that your heart is like that of a rain cloud when it swells and bursts giving all that it can to the surroundings. Supporting life itself with every beat. Giving yourself over entirely to whatever you do. With faith that if you give it all away then it will all come back to you. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. But you still always have that mischievous yet sweet smile on your face from day to day. Like the rain clouds after their self immolation being reborn. On to another day and work to be done. My favorite funny fox. Kindness only second to the cunning well hidden underneath it all. A social awareness people underestimate. A fox in a bunny suit. Well I can see you, I have always seen you mon petit chou. So please; pour your heart out. Because a long time ago I started building rain catchers and writing all of our some days in ink across the moon. And I could wax poetic for you over an eternity, but I no longer have that kind of time. But I can tell you all about it in the hammock if you’d like. Some day.

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