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Moulin Rouge Chapter 5
Obsessions & Possessions
Zidler had an investor, and the bohemians had a show.
"The end of the century! The bohemian revolution is here!"
Harry smiled wanly as Colin's high-pitched screams streamed down through the loud music that was thriving in the flat above his own. Smoke could be seen coiling in the cool breeze outside the window. The party was thriving and buzzing upstairs. The floorboards groaned awkwardly underneath the weight of all the dancing people upstairs.
While the celebration party raged upstairs, I tried to write. But all I could think about was the previous night.
Harry ran a hand through his hair with a tired sigh. He probably should sleep but his muscles refused to relax, "how wonderful life is ..."
Was she thinking about me?
"Now you're in ... the world" his voice rumbled out on his tongue before her pursed his lips together against the evening breeze. It was going to be a long night for him.
Ginerva was perched on the love-
Paper Heart by V A Hyder
Paper Heart © V. A. Hyder
I'm gonna take all my feelings
And wrap them in a paper heart
It's a delicate puzzle so be careful how you start
I never knew your feelings so I think it's safe to say
I'll give you my paper love and find out this way
I never saw your reaction so now I'll never know
I want to see that sweet smile
But your emotions never show.
How can I love you when you walk away?
I wish I could ask you to stay I want you to stay
I wish this had never happened to me and to you,
You never looked at me that way till you said 'we're through'
The crumpled remains are all that is left
Along with all of the things that you never said
I never knew how little I meant to you
Until you ripped my paper heart in two
I'm sitting alone in the corner of my mind
Tracing my heart with the lines you left behind
I wish that I could ha-a-ave you he-e-ere
But all I have left of you are ripped papers and tears
I don't think I can piece this
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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