September 19, 2009

If I Were in the House of the Rising Sun, Excuses Could Be Made

She was that regrettable love, that love that is not love, but the sullen, dark mistake, the blackness in one's soul when desperation adheres itself in the bosom.

Most would be ashamed to have stop in this house of ill-repute, to saunter up to the bar and ask for what should never be named. Yet, I found some comfort there, as Paul Simon might confess.

A cappuccino, with hazelnut, at a McDonald's. Two bags of sugar. There are times many of us have walked where wisdom shook her head, and such have I today.

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