when i think of all the good time that’s been wasted
golden-apple-fiction-flavored-firecracker summer heat storms, how does every day pass faster than the last? Walk from the bank to the train station and over the bridge, over dark water and iron rails into darker underbrush and back again, it feels good and better to be alive as long as I am. I meant it when I said we should burn everything to the ground and start again, hell, half the shoes don’t even fit me and these books are too heavy to box up, I am tired of doing just-enough to get by and not-enough to feel it.
