Guitarism (sparkle_frog) wrote,

Ripples, created by a seeking mind, wash over, eroding stone into sand. Ancient cries echo, unheard. I wonder where you are, what you're doing, and I hope you're still around, still alive. The world has gotten harder everyday, ever since I took that final step from the precipice, waving goodbye to all that a younger me held dear. I still reach upwards, forgetting, but I'm getting better. I'm learning to stand on my own feet again, but I don't think I would have if I hadn't met you.
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