a story that is only half my own

latte art

between the sacred and profane
nobody hears me chant your name
another year has gone again
and i will never be the same.

it was one of those days that never really ends; there were no goodbyes.  i remember the fog and the ice and the road leading me south. and that is about as far down the path as we can go together. unless, of course, you’ve already been there yourself.

sometimes the only way to tell a story is to not tell it at all.


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