One small fleeting moment secures our knowledge in which two souls connect, flow together, and quietly promise the trust of no betrayal. Perfection dies quickly and leaves swiftly with lingering memories. Old wounds form bonds that remain. A question is asked, and answered, by whispering sighs. The course of our normal frequency together finds, unexpectedly, that a friendship is not a lover. Lovers balance their pockets by the luck of the imprinted romance or the sustaining existence, neither one of which is strength. Another encounter conceivably repeats our weaknesses. Assent to digress from what is important has disjointed my belief.