the lost man chronicles
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a lover laments

i weighed the whys and why-nots and thought albeit the latter was light as the first kiss, there was something amiss, something missing amongst the wherefores, a certain sumthin’-sumthin’ that lovers that love without love must have before loving, the such that allows paramours to mesh free of the entanglement that expectations weave—those heady promises that burgeon into obligations that spring surprises and ultimately one is ill to keep—and so, once again, indeed this sordid bane is not for me.

hence, i will continue to keep to myself those pinings that will forevermore prod me forward in search of that certain someone willing to impart that sumthin’-sumthin’ that makes us swoon as one in the name of lust.

for from dust to dust, and from nothing comes nothing, and so there is seemingly something to the notion that there is no refuge for the lonely, because inevitably everyone is deceived, as either the man is either too short, intolerably uncouth, or already taken or the woman is insidiously too righteous or too fat. and despite that desperation which has them both beckoning at the door, scratching for more before it is opened, neither party is willing to stoop into the mire of compromise once it is.

alas, one offends the other evermore as much as their own evils and free wills they vehemently defend. thus the impasse, and the therefore that which has the courting and corrupting continually coming quickly to an end.

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