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As always, I have no interest in hearing advice regarding my style. It's mine.

Recovery and Rebirth

by: Summer Hamori

The dusk is a living creature. Each car racing down the wet street provides it with rich respiration. The mechanical titans slice through the night, cradled by fragmentizing eruptions which clap like thunder, swallowing the consistent rhythm of nocturnal hours. The remaining laconism of their absence is enhanced, so that her every word sounds alone in the suffocating quietude. Clear and penetrating. An initiation, again and again.

Her brown boots have created a comforting beat in collision with hard cement, and the thuds dissolve into silver as puddles cling to their elevating motion. He watches, simply to see her move, because he likes that she is going somewhere, and, in this moment, that they are going somewhere together.

His voice could never be familiar, because it is not to be possessed. He won’t be owned, and she is separate, even beside him. It has been remarked that in her presence, people feel continually unaccompanied. The right men are liberated. The good men of esteem, whilst the guilty cower, smothered and trapped beneath the brutality of audacious appraisal and steadfast standards. Take your pick.

Their two figures walk with straight backs and arrogant shoulders. It is enough to catch second looks from those whom bustle past, hunched over and cold.

She addresses the weather with pleasure. Although not fond of it himself, it is hard to resist that rare, dazzling smile as she laughs, allowing streams to drip down her loose, black shirt – a shirt exposing both shoulders and collarbone with shameless disregard for conventional modesty.

Running water is a constant outpouring of energy and good health. It represents regular and reliable progress. There are those who hide from it, fearful of disrupting make-up and hair, but Purnima holds her arms open, as if to say to the whole damn city – “take me. I have no regrets.”

The road is linear and definite. A destination has been determined, and now it is only a matter of progressing towards that goal.

Edited by Summer
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I would be interested to see if, because you know me so well, Garrett, you picked up on the metaphors in practically every piece of writing which I have posted here, or what that metaphor signifies - particularly what this one represents.

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