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Stroll through the park dew on the freshly cut grass and yellow glimmering on the path. The smell of the sun mixed with the Pacific coast breeze.  Every year, every season, every month, and every day
The God of Small Things in one hand The waist of my world wrapped around, the other We sit in mezzo-silence, My murmuring the words of Roy’s clever, crushing prose,
Dear Happiness,   Why do you cease to exist and yet are eternally present at the same time?   What is the reason that you are far away
Dear Past Me, It gets better. But it also gets worse. That’s the nature of this life. I won’t tell you that all your dreams will come true. I won’t tell you that all your paths are gilded.
1. I saw in the reflective glass an image of a man unknown, Alone thou stood in the quiet dawn - waiting for me to arrive, Search and search and search,
here i am writing
As I walked on the laid brick
That tar that you spit, embellishes oppression Not uncovering another beauty only truly shielding it, no resting Constant stressing about the matters of geography
You tell me everything will be
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