the candles are lit and our hearts are't in place. We swallow the stars and look to the sky, why, we ask ourselves, is this vast blackness so dry?
what's become of the seasons and the salutations of you all isn't in our hands any longer. We lost the map but found the treasure. Can you steal when it's given? Can we hide from the reflection? Can you drink without praying for the curage to swallow?
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2 comments:
I think I am going on a envy strike, Bailey. Love it.
Thank you so much.
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