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Thoughts, like the rest of my poetry, that sometimes seem overwhelming and define life. |
Dear me in one hundred and two years, O - how did you make it through the tears? The silly thing is, I don't really want to know what will happen to me. I sort of fell behind for a while, but I guess you know about that mile where I lost all my words and my sight. It's scary, being mute in the night. Do you think of laughing as yellow? It reminds me of the sun, you know, and it's nice to travel in the day. Or, it IS harder to lose your way. I think of choices as being blue, along with pretty things and the new trails that branch off of this one we're on. Before you know it, the blue is gone. Do you still enjoy looking at trees? I'd hoped you were still a lot like me. Romanticism is what we are, and I don't want to stray very far. I hope that all is well in our life, and that you are happy with our wife. As silly as I'm sure that may sound, I guess I'm wherever you are, bound. Don't write me back - I'm tired of the news! I'll just wait on any bit of muse that helps me out and can keep me cool, Always yours, You from back in High school |