Lestat (flambeauvivant) wrote,

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I don't feel much like writing reams of fanciful prose. I haven't much felt like contemplating the infinite or my own navel or whatever it is that I’m supposed to stare at, and perhaps that’s why I have neglected to update this thing for some time.

Winter is lessening its grip. The dawn ignites the city when I now take my leave of it. Spring; I can almost taste the cool sunshine. Ah, and something else is coming, I can feel that too. I don't know what but it's nearly here. Whatever it is it certainly has a sense of timing.

You’d think that I’d have something to say about that too, wouldn't you? I’ve filled pages upon pages with very much less before but I'm perfectly content. It can come to me, whatever it is. Life is good. It’s full of the promise of spring time and sometimes that’s all that needs to be said.
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