A #poem About Both People And Lines People are different. Some people irrevocably so. Some people are like parallel lines. The lines never touch, they never clash. They just smile and wave at each other from a distance, one admiring the other from afar with quiet and mutual respect, nodding amicably thinking "what a very fine line indeed". They'll never affect each other, and they won't mind. Then you've got the squiggles. The lines that intertwine and intermingle and bounce and crash and grate... The lines that are sometimes so far away that each echo takes decades to traverse the distance, to bounce back and bring no news that hasn't been heard before, yet are sometimes so close that each whisper sounds like at once a scream and a breath of fresh air... Then you have the curves and the waves. The ones that are close then far then close the far but never really touch, that never feel the contact... The nearly friends, the acquaintances, the school mate and the colleague... Then you have the perpendicular lines... The lines at cross purposes. The ones that getter closer and closer, so close that the sound of them coming together I's like the scream of a fighter jet, so close... Then they touch once, briefly but with the power of an atomic bomb and then they are drifting away, far away... Drifting as quickly apart as they did together. The lines that had that brief moment of contact, that one, unique collision before they leave, never to combine again... These are the happiest, and most beautiful and complex lines... But also the saddest.

Dreams Last nights dream was a little disconcerting... I dreamed I lived I'n school, That the French room with that high reaching ceiling was my living space, and that no one else shared the school with me until I opened my bedroom door. Then and only then would they be allowed I'n. When I did I'n fact open the door everyone was doing French, although what language they were actually speaking I know not. As I walked past In my pyjamas going to fetch my orange juice and my toast I said good morning, and they responded In kind, albeit I'n a cacophony of different languages. As I left the building I was transported to the school field In the middle of a massive game of a sport that didn't register I'n my memory, but it felt perfectly natural for them to be playing. Then a girl I know very well was standing next to me, and she reached for my hand, and I reached back... Then she kissed me and quick as anything turned and ran... I couldn't find her for the rest of the dream, as I continued my wondering around my scholarly domain. When I woke up after going to bed In my French room bedroom, I realised quite how weird and disconcerting that dream was, but how real and interesting it was compared to my normal dreams. So I wrote this. Somewhere to get it down, to trap the dream to the page like a sticker to it's book.

Sound Advice Let me acknowledge that I am not the sole author of my successes and not a victim of my defeats. -Zefrank