Tears fall on a song. Joy? Agony? I can not discern. There are angels, here are two. Pure of heart.
The visage forms not so much a question nor statement. A knowing. A knowledge lost in the wastelands of maturation. When having simple love without things was more important than things. A hug, a kiss. Care.
The fellas say in the song I can always be found. Look inside because you will find you. The you before you became what you are now. Remember it?
Remember those lovely times when swinging on a swing was all you needed.
Just remember that Fowler when you read this later in a year or two. And really you’ve known it all along.
The depths of the oceans are dark and heavy. As crushing as the space between the things in the universe.
I curse the pain of such thoughts.