Wednesday, July 20, 2011


It slips through your fingers like glass.
You never know how sorry you will be till it's gone.
You never know how much you will miss it until it is no longer there.

What if you hadn't been..there.

How different would it be
And the wind still rushes through the tops of the trees
like there was a forever

and if you hush, quietly
you will not make great waves

and no one will know.

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