I'm throwing these words like a fistful of gravel. Without aim or intention. I don't want to hurt anyone, but for each stone there is a memory. And lately, my memories are more like wishes... moments of beauty cemented in time. A fistful of love and no target.
The distance between a memory and a dream is as far as you are from yourself. Sometimes I wonder how life can get better. All I have is a rough sketch of what I want to happen and that rough sketch is no more than kindling.
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