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Cherubs

Someone just called me “cherub”. Um. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Cherubs are fat little angels with stubby fingers. I'd rather be a bad ass warrior one. Um, like an Seraphim, but then you can't have everything in life can you?

Or can you. I wonder sometimes. I'm walking down the street and contemplating the possibility of my own divinity. Hm. It's worth looking into, I'd certainly like to be infallible, even if it was just a little.

Turn the corner. Stop. Look. Don't listen, whatever you do, don't listen. There right in front of you is a girl. She's all nice, and you'd certainly like to be infallible for her, and share your divinity. I pretty certain that I heard it rubs off. Only…. There's someone else there, barely discernable, but there. She's with someone, and you're not going to win this (for want of a far more romantic phrase) so it's time to move on. Stop, look, but don't listen. You don't want to hear that.

New street, new people. Some of them are nice, some are not… there are a few familiar faces, and it certainly is easier to move back than it is to move forwards (or should that be on?)… doesn't really matter, you installed blinkers at some stage. Move on. Move on. Move on. Read a good book, and whatever you do, don't listen. Just don't listen.

But do watch where you're going, huh?

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