March 14, 2009
I slowly rose.
No sign of ripples phased the stillness of the lake.
Thunder sounded; the gates of Heaven opened and released perfect, individual water dropplets.
Looking to the gods, tiny pellets of water broke onto my skin.
This is prefection-Gods finest work.
If only time would freeze the clocks on this day, this minute, this second.
This is the closest I'll get to a utopia.

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