This is for drug things.This is for sad things.This is a poem.And so are you.
I am a memory you revisit, not an experience you share. Come back to me, my love, and see me with new eyes.
I will always be here when you need me, and I will never judge.
The highs and lows, the cyclic mood, the song lodged in your heart.
There is always more self, don't be afraid to find it.
Tracing a straight line, but being led in circles.
Everything comes, and everything goes. Who knows how many times we've had this conversation.
We each live as beings of two minds: those decisions we made, and the doubts we carry for them.
Peer deeply and see the universe is made of pure potential, while we are made of universe.
Sometimes it's life, pained, to persist in a world of such resentment it scours us. Flenses. Reduces us.
We construct our reality, and begin with the spark of imagination. Without it, we can do nothing.
Discovery is a process, a way of being, not an act. To cease is to stagnate.
Unsettled and disarmed; the wall against which we place our backs has turned on us.
Always a corner, somewhere you can put your back.
The wind blows through a place of beauty, but there is no one left to see it.
The loom wove light into something we could discard.
Cities breathe lives, lives breathe possibility.
But who are you, and who am I, and would we know if we ever found out?
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