oliver and his pocket full of nothings.
Published Monday, October 06, 2008 by jovi | E-mail this post
time doesn't always heal.
it just breathes and swallows memories.
like the seasons change.
sending showers beating flowers.
into the mud.
how blessed we are for crying now,
for we will laugh someday.
and how.
how blessed we are for crying now,
for we will love someday.
and how.
mineral- sounds like sunday
showers before the rays.
that's how flowers grow.
everything falls from grace.
and then never be seen below.
.
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