If I sang a million songs
If I wrote a million words If I did a million things Would I really know me better? Isn't it absurd? The way we give weight to the ever fleeting? Isn't it so strange? The way we feel different in each moment? None of it matters. None of it means a thing. Yet my silly human mind is so desperately clinging to what could and could not to what should and should not. And none of it is real. It's all just dust rolling by.
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WordsSometimes I write them, sometimes I share them. Archives
January 2018
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