'You could say anything. But don't say 'Goodnight' Tonight.'

Dear Veronica,

I am seemingly spent, devastatingly exhausted. Where is the justice in the hours repressed into the fleeting past? A semblance of unknown repentance. The proverbial chord struck and reverberating through the soundboard of the effervescent mind. Postulation of repugnance; the taste of quinine in my mouth, permeating the papillae. Who's to know my plight, to reflect? Subjective endeavors being what they are, will petulance pervade, will my strength hold it at bay? Or am I to secede to the ever present Suffergette?

I've given to the sway of understanding. A laughter overcame to which I have not yet known and will probably yet again experience in ultimate realization. The feeling of a cobalt summer's sky, voluptuous bleached out cumulus spreading so silkily across the dream-scape never ending. Heart felt my silent message and closed eyed smile. Imagining the feeling of a dusky drizzle. Such mists refracting the sunset's violets a orange hue.

A sitting in a field of ragweed and past plowed obsidian. The pervading bother of free flow and no tapestry to aid in its removal. Giving to the backside of the broad arm and forelimb. Retreating soon thereafter to yet again give into the gross perversion that is the unsolvable, unknowable ether. No smile, no anger, just exhaled acceptance.

'Don't let it end.'