series2bk6.071

 

The futile proffering of lush ladies nudged to my grudging company, on the supposition that I might (flightily) switch love-objects with a slick flick of the heart, is a sickening waste of time. I mime my misery in the blackness of the night, silently styling a vain hope that she'll recognize the size and stature of my grand romantic vision - the elision of our two souls, in paradise. Precisely what that might mean, or how the sum might come to an added whole, no longer matters; I'm shattered by the sheer delectability of sadness - glad that no other thought finds room in my head.      Unfit for friendship in this state of mind?      Another verdict might be hard to find.