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  • In my dreams your pockets are full of aged paper, letters you carry with you, all of which you have written. Every one. They are the life's summation of everything you've ever wanted and never had the chance to become.

    There is bread and cheese and pears and buses that take me to the door of where I want to go, regardless of the ticket I have bought, drivers who go above and beyond and I am grateful.

    Even in my dreams I am grateful.

    In the morning there are songs about nothing much, only being, and being in love.





    Tell me again, lest I forget.

    when exactly was it that we met?
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