67.

The leaves fall to
the ground in a gentle brush
of sound on cement.

66.

Desperate. Lonely.
He was always only all
too willing to give

it all up, every
little thing, for just a small
fragment of her heart.

65.

A quick glimpse, seen through
the strings of a rapturous
drawn duality.

64.

Silhouettes cross the
stage in their inanimate
dance to memory.

63.

Yet another bare
lesson in growing up. It's
all so meaningless.

62.

An explosion of
sound, like rough sex and violent
tendencies. Bursting.

61.

A writhing mass of
chords, riding through your veins like
emotion's outlet.