Thoughts of a Violinist Giraffe

Her mind was reeling, in a state of retropulsion, as though stepping - no, leaping  back would save her from dwelling on the implications of what just happened. The enemy - so-called -             called for truce,      even friendship. She has known him these past three years and not once has he made any indication of backing down. His sense of pride, like a wall, didn't allow the very idea to enter through the gates. And yet now, when she chances upon him in the streets, all she sees on his face is bewilderment,              even confusion. When he chances upon her,                        his eyes fill with anger - but does she see a hint of embarrassment, dancing in the corners? Her curiosity is getting the better of her -                     she demands him, upon...

Its implications, heavy as a royal decree,             foreboding in stance. Determined was the young man                          to stand unwavering     from where he stood. He would not allow poison                                  to sicken his character,               malleable enough as it is. The calligraphy written in his heart         could be found as lifeless as dry bones before he             comes to notice. Rather than burn, he severed               the bridge of baleful influence.             He was only as good as the company he kept. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The word was "calligraphy". Hope you enjoyed it! Cheers!

Is there ever a way to forge a new path from present,           as of picking friendship from former love - or so man calls? Can a burned, faint crossing make new its old beams?             Let old wounds open and bleed to nothing more - as of the face of marble David,                   can it be so? Refresh frail bones, give breath to one still dead, am I God that such acts           can be taken in success? And yet I desire such a miracle, tho I am still blind to the purpose, the looking glass yet unclear. Humbly I ask if He wills such a thing. I wonder after a sign to be seen,                           a beacon to a heart humbled.                          Yet if it is not the time,         ...

She took the sea for an ocean,            the shrubs for the trees, and the streetlights for the stars. All she wrote, what she knew,                she only knew. Failed - tho not yet - to wait     for the fog to fade.      First time she was thrust outside the thick fog,      she grasped to see and all she came to see            were strange in feeling. But what she knew, she knew only, that she must move forward.    Slowly, not-so-steadily, whimpers and prayers, and tears for home.                  She kept her eyes open, and soon she knew the deepest ocean,                  the darkest forest trees,                    the brightest stars.           ...

I am looking at the phone accessory you gave to me the day you decided to wander down the campus that wasn't even yours on a few festive days. I'm wondering why I'm bothering to put it back on the phone when it's been so long since we've talked - been so long since love seemed lost. It's seems so superfluous to bother to think about it. Maybe I just want to think back and remember the good times? Maybe I'm finally moving on while still holding on to what has been left behind, lying around my apartment, hidden like memories? Pockets of laughter, bright flashes of a smile, echoes of a touch - that's what I remember. But maybe I'm moving on and this is the best I can do. It's the best I can do to thank you for more than what's left. Maybe that's the best that can be said. ~~~~~~~~~~ The word was "superfluous". Thanks for reading! Cheers!