No matter the weather or the nicks and dents you’ll acquire without effort— no matter how experiences— the whole of them— may short change you into a thing that you barely recognize— don’t let that chin drop.
Everyone can see the potential in a heads up penny.
Night, I love you like a bride loving her body, the madman the desert, like the horse loves its shadow, the sad the lighthearted, I love you like a wanderer his ballad, a poet his dark room, like the moon.
I’m the smell on your skin after you’ve felt the sun for hours— the ache in your belly when you’ve laughed yourself into a fit of warm tears— the give of the lid on a stubborn pickle jar— the freedom felt at one-hundred miles per hour. I am all of the subtle reminders that life is beyond measure, and that 'time' was just a theory conjured up by someone who couldn’t stand his own happiness.