Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Meaningless words

There is a harmonica on my desk, glittering in the ceiling lights.  It speaks to me, and I speak back.  What a wondrous object, a producer of s=weet sweet tones and melodies.  The light reflecting off it is a mirror of the mind, a mirror of the soul.  It looks at me, and I am awestruck.  And alone.  So very alone.

I was going to correct that typo, but I think it fits.

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