Every moment of patience has its reward. We yearn ’cause we burn. We learn ’cause we yearn. And we ascertain as we learn.
A fire caressing through our limbs as we walk, a breeze like a surgeon’s knife across our cheek as we hold our head high. A tickle it leaves behind, tickling away on all our desires. Patience, it plays with us.
With a brave face you march right into the wind cutting your face, is this what testing mettle feels like? That walk of chill consumes you inside of yourself, like rolling your body’s architecture into itself, like a furry squirrel rolling in itself trying to keep its body warm.
This quiet consumes you, wishful thinking trying to copulate itself with rationale.
Our minds always filled by ideas born such. People like us, where do we go? The sound of music playing from the window-pane of a lonely shop…
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