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logogen 04:43:51::16:07:2010 --


That's about all you can say; mutter it to yourself, mask it in the flick of a lighter, the pull of smoke through your lips.

I make the noise, do the rituals. None of that has any bearing, none of it offers me ease. Instead, I wearily spin a coin around my fingertip. Stop it on a head, slide it across to join the others and buy another drink. Lager, cold enough that I can watch flies die in the condensation in frozen bliss. Cold enough that I can wipe it clear.

A smile cracks my lips, too dry but for alcohol. Sometimes life can reflect itself in strange ways - you know, better than anyone. Right?

Sometimes, life can reflect itself. Like the face you see most days can seem behind a bubble, superimposed with all the memories and associations of years gone past. That's a bubble you want to keep intact, but the sensible part of your body tells you, needs you to drop that weight or carry it; each as needs go by.

But why carry it, I reason? Sometimes it feels good to punish yourself. To carry the weight and responsiblity for times gone by solely on yourself; blame, hurt, pain. All the good parts. Yeah, sometimes it does.

Sometimes you just have to set it on fire, and watch the flames go up into the stars. Feel whatever you will, instead. Relief, redemption, atonement.

The part that makes me smile is that sometimes I'm not sure which I'm more deserving of.

Then I watch the flames and look through to the other side.

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