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Whirlpool

 

Whirlpool

Ruth V. Mostrales

I am finding ways to understand myself in relation to you.  I think it is a futile task because I shouldn’t touch upon the subject.  I always write concerning the things that matter.  I saw you today, again.

In the whirlpool of events where our meeting is neatly placed, I cannot tell what came first — admiration or fate.  I struggle to remember his face now.  You’re a mainstay in my thoughtless fixation on the horizon.

Things are whirring past, and now around me.  I cannot stop them or change their course.  My feet is on the ground yet my thoughts wander on the possibility, the perhaps — the possibility of dear fate merging with love, and you in this whirlpool.

7:44 PM, February 9, 2010

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