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. 

The Artisans One Of A Kind Antiquities

What I am offering you is an antique. Passed down from my grandparents, to my parents, to me. And now to you if you will take it. It began with my ancestors years ago, millennia ago. Given new shape by each possessor, somehow making it uniquely theirs, do not lose it. This is centuries old, do not break it. Although broken before, always mended in preparation to be given to the next owner. Sometimes stolen, but always retrieved. A relic that offers so much to the owner, but only envy to those who do not have it. A collectors piece that gives meaning to the small, what some would call insignificant, things. It causes the smallest acts to have the biggest outcomes. This is priceless, and not for a black market affair. This is one of a kind, many strive to convince you of their knock offs. A genuine and unique artifact. A piece of art painstakingly sculpted specifically for you, specifically for this moment. This gift is precious. This is my heart, and I want you to have it.

All rights reserved and all that bullshit.