More pseudo-fiction, heavy on the fiction. Juvenile, possibly, but potent in ways I can't explain. Listen to Sentenced, and see this as an extrapolation thereof. Do not think that suicide is in my future; if it was, it would come unbidden, but it won't.
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If I ever found Her, I'd propose on the shores of a Finnish lake, blood pumping from the open veins of our arms so that when she said (it doesn't matter), our final minutes would be unspeakably significant.
A day or so thereafter, some poor Finn would find two pale bodies on the crimson-stained shore: whether they were clutched in a final embrace, or separated by some unknown (mutual?) hate, the motive would remain a mystery.
Suffice to say that there would be no doubt about the love we shared, emotionally, psychologically, cellularly.
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At least all this upbeat (yes, really) Finnish gloom has given me some material for Unheimlich.
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