marox_pass_pride_for_helin fyn gula copello knew emotional highs and lows (like riding the trinado at idlewild), felt them deep within the balance of spirit, soul, heart, and body. and when he felt one of the many, this one being fatherly pride for helin, it swept him away on a wave of happiness, weightless, with a full-mouthed grin and belly laughter that was noticeably extravagant and embarressing. (was anyone listening?) she was his daughter, flesh of his genetic make-up. blood of his ocean's love. she held his philosophy, kant, kafka, turgenev? a little less a lot more. but she edited it to her dreams. she had his eyes, his beauty, as if they were always filmed in perfect light, as if the sun always came out of the clouds when they arrived. she had his confidence and solicitude. she would one day pass through a crowd and all heads would turn. boys instantly in love with a vision of a goddess. men admiring youthful pulchritude, women wishing for the stunning runway looks and wholesome goodness, girls jealous with admiration. and when she spoke, smiles carried her words like a mother holding a newborn baby at the breast. she drinks love. she lives in softness. 010819 ... unhinged she was so pultritudinous. she always had been with the freckled cheeks and big blue eyes and brow beating eyelashes. when she ran away it broke my heart. i really haven't known her too well since then. 010819 what's it to you? who go blather from