"let's say the same thing at the same time." what was originally supposed to be the inward thought of a cynic on their third strike came out, instead, in a muffled admission.
"you can't plan that sort of thing." was the only retort given by foresight.
cast your hopes to heaven in the form of prayer and wishful thinking. it's the only thing to do besides watch the clock and hope that luck's working in the name of God for miracles or something like them.
"let's run in to one another's arm at the end of a winter spent alone and with out heat (love)."
"you can't plan that sort of thing." casting your wishes doesn't promise you a damn thing.
"what am i allowed to plan, then?"
"which part of the yard you're going to bury your pride when your heart's shoved back in your face by someone who didn't deserve it in the first place."
"there's no hope to cast away, is there?"
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