Because I had it all written out, perfect, pretty, pristine as I captured that exact moment God could possibly accidentally show himself to me and with a light graze of soft lovers fingers hit the red button that ejects only those exact accidentally beautiful moments, I shout “F Me” kicking my feet on the ground like the heart broken emotional 3 year old who had accidentally dropped his just perfectly scooped chocolate ice cream and must succumb to writing a maniacal rant of stream of pretentious metaphors about my hurt to replace what might of left a slightly upturned one sided content smile instead of a bitter taste.

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