A friend wrote this with me in her mind. . . She always have some magical words. . . Especially when she write about “time”.
For someone who is so obsessed with time, I seem to forget that most people move on with it.
It is not an attribute of the common, to hang up a broken clock in the hall of their stagnant lives. That is a pattern of my own.
I’m typically atypical in my state of standstill. I’m inspired to aspire from the walls within.
The lure of the day marks just the coming of the night. The night beckons me to sleep, for the coming of a new day.
But others, they venture forward and seek to get lost, knowing that the discovery of life comes in the adventure of its course.
Their tales will be told as a time they were once upon, but mine will be told as being without, for I live in a place where the ticks do not applaud me, so I am not accepted…
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