Sometimes numbers inexplicably change, so we continue counting – hoping through the repetition of ones, twos, and threes, that one will remain steady enough to append a value to.
There was a beautiful girl from Boston.
Value is a quality all things want to be noticed as having – to be a thing suffused with dignity, of being noticed as a distinction, of being worthy of the soft or hard hand of love.
She believed, and believed mightily in loyalty.
Once upon a time there was an oasis in the mind of a child, lush with forgiveness water. Twice there was a moment of bending. Three times there was a fall and a rising of breath.
For her, loyalty was like the sum total of everything.
So what that the stars were disappearing, that fog stayed heavy, that a chance at anything is in and of itself a wager with a higher authority, that nothing can be counted on
Except the apple, and the hallucinations of Eden…