I Think Precision In Writing Goes Hand

Sometimes When She Is Able To Spend The Night With Him They Are Wakened By The Three Minarets Of The City Beginning Their Prayers Before Dawn. He Walks With Her Through The Indigo Markets That Lie Between South Cairo And Her Home. The Beautiful Songs Of Faith Enter The Air Like Arrows, One Minaret Answering Another, As If Passing On A Rumor Of The Two Of Them As They Walk Through The Cold Morning Air, The Smell Of Charcoal And Hemp Already Making The Air Profound. Sinners In A Holy City.

Tell Me, Is It Possible To Love Someone Who Is Not As Smart As You Are? ...but Isn't It Important For You To Think She Is Smarter Than You In Order To Fall In Love? ...why Is That? Because We Want To Know Things, How The Pieces Fit. Talkers Seduce, Words Direct Us Into Corners. We Want More Than Anything To Grow And Change. Brave New World.

A Postcard. Neat Handwriting Fills The Rectangle. Half My Days I Cannot Bear To Touch You. The Rest Of My Time I Feel Like It Doesn’t Matter If I Will Ever See You Again. It Isn’t The Morality, It’s How Much You Can Bear. No Date. No Name Attached.

Why Are You Not Smarter? It's Only The Rich Who Can't Afford To Be Smart. They're Compromised. They Got Locked Years Ago Into Privilege. They Have To Protect Their Belongings. No One Is Meaner Than The Rich. Trust Me. But They Have To Follow The Rules Of Their Shitty Civilised World. They Declare War, They Have Honour, And They Can't Leave. But You Two. We Three. We're Free.

There Is The Hidden Presence Of Others In Us, Even Those We Have Known Briefly. We Contain Them For The Rest Of Our Lives, At Every Border That We Cross.