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Summer is slipping toward reminiscence. Moments no longer held tightly. The days are nothing but mist upon the glass. The sunlight no longer burns brightly. Listening to the tides; the mounting anguish along the shore. Limitations brought about frustrations; silently waiting for the knock upon the door.
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
The Door
Summer is slipping toward reminiscence. Moments no longer held tightly. The days are nothing but mist upon the glass. The sunlight no longer burns brightly. Listening to the tides; the mounting anguish along the shore. Limitations brought about frustrations; silently waiting for the knock upon the door.
david-w-jones
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
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