allan

It was a dream I believe, a thousand tears to make up a sea, torrenting for you and I to ponder upon the vastness. Indeed, a thought nay a vision containing all of the ineptness of the human condition. Upon the shores of this desolation lay my heart, washed and beaten upon the sand as driftwood often succumbs. The pain and sacrifice of a thousand rejections abrased the surface most hastily. When the most hopeless hour had struck, you appeared quite suddenly, with your feet seperating the sand unto prints and the brine to erase the evidence of your trespass. My heart is in your charge since soft hands delicately wiped the tears, and all that I may do is bid you take care, for treasure is not measured by it's weight in gold or silver, it is the rarity of true feeling that worth is measured.

-GIR