Tuesday, August 23, 2005

It was sweet when she recognized that little spark of hopefulness that could only be fueled by naivety.
Sweet because she feared there was nothing left but cynicism and that leaves the heart sour.
Now it seems merely foolishness, like wishing on a star, or trusting the fortune cookie to be right
She is still unable, just yet, to snuff it out
As the edges curl away and brown in the listless flame
Watching, rocking in her chair, back and forth, watching it flicker and fade
Like a boyscout on a camping trip, wondering if with the right gust of wind, this time the fire might roar into life
Realizing it probably won't.
Would you light a match to it again?
Or crawl into the tent defeated?

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