I’m Not Sure I’ll Ever Be Finished.

Zen Cuts Straight Through The Quidditch Match In Progress And Almost Gets Taken Down By A Beater Hurling A Nerf Quaffle Right At His Machopartes.

The Higher My Gpa Gets The More I Realize High School Is Useless

Chromosomal Dance Oh, Heavenly Happenstance Rare Creation, You -marcus (poetry Spam #22)

I Thought Marcus Was Going To Be In My Life Forever. Then I Thought I Was Wrong. Now He’s Back. But This Time I Know What’s Certain: Marcus Will Be Gone Again, And Back Again And Again And Again Because Nothing Is Permanent. Especially People. Strangers Become Friends. Friends Become Lovers. Lovers Become Strangers. Strangers Become Friends Once More, And Over And Over. Tomorrow, Next Week, Fifty Years From Now, I Know I’ll Get Another One-word Postcard From Marcus, Because This One Doesn’t Have A Period Signifying The End Of The Sentence. Or The End Of Anything At All.

Where's My Syllabus To Guide Me Through Life?