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Vagueries seem like commonalities to those unwilling to dig and make inquiries; those foolhardy casualties who give

purpose to line after line of ill-defined notes, posts, messages, without asking the questions that could crush their crush and end the flutters and rush and blushes and attempts to respond that come out as stuttering mush, texts swiftly quashed before 'send' is pushed. Their brush with "love" is soon snuffed out in a rout against reason, the haze fades away and they come to learn they're not the other's every season. When you see you're not their waking sun nor waning moon, the stars disappear in the sky and this lesion upon your heart aches inside. But soon your eyes widen to your disparate interests ripping open an unbridgeable rift; onto another your heart flits and drifts as the other never knows the whole of your heart was quietly their's for a bit. Later you're left with that tiny voice of "What if?" that pipes up as on life presses, and the twenty years of strains and stresses of failed relationship adventures and quests leave you reminiscing of past passions and you fashion your imagination can do justice to an alternate life full of their lust and lips, that long-ago emotion, and you long for a moment alone.