Sewer Angel

<p>Parking was a mess but I made it. I am writing this alone, out here on the sand. I lay next to two empty bottles, so forgive me if my themes are scattered. Once I&rsquo;ve finished putting a drunken pen to paper, this message in a bottle will reach a brave soul overseas. Read me, if you dare. By the time you&rsquo;ve finished, you&rsquo;ll reminisce upon the image of your first love. Today&rsquo;s epic dwells on an old relationship headed nowhere, and presumably quite fast.</p> <p>You will not believe me when I tell you that I can hear her laughter behind me at all times. I&rsquo;d like to think that if my prose were beautiful enough, she&rsquo;d walk right out of my memories and sit right beside me. I could gaze into her abstract eyes and forget about my troubles. Oh how I wish this could come true. To match her beauty would mean I would have to become possessed by Neruda and construct what Shakespeare would write effortlessly. Whether or not I can orchestrate a loving symphony is up to her. The applause of hundreds roaring up the Wiltern would mean nothing to me, as her silence would mean everything.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/@sebastam02/sewer-angel-e58e69c8f63c"><strong>Website</strong></a></p>
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