The sanguineness dissipates quickly with ever encroaching pessimism, but fortune has allowed for its presence to thus become so dissolved. I’d like to allow it to remain. I quite enjoy the air of relief from my partially reticent state of disingenuous verisimilitude.
My obscure rationale may not be as such. Is it possible to emote paradox? Should I express chaste; untoward suffering alone amongst those who too suffer? So long as I fail to engender mine strife, I remain hopeful to assume. A failure which I will allow to impart pride.
I can only but allude to the ambiguity which gives opportunity for unfettered access to my bed. I could lust for nothing more than the ability to surrender my espousal of this pencil for the sleeping embrace of my bride. But these words would then give cause to further discomfort. We are estranged bedfellows, the three of us.
To whom do I owe compassion? The dues I have paid appear to have been assessed as insufficient, though I have taken great care to review my account. Strange this life and how we live. Realize that life means nothing when nothing is all we give.
