Wednesday, April 6, 2011

big balloons

May 19, 2010

I'm just waiting for the day when butterflies taste like rain and I don't have to cry to see the storm. But the harder I listen for silence, the louder the crowd roars. If I say it once, you'll remember. If you say it twice, we all forget. But how many times should they say before we remember to live on Sundays? And the morning is when I'd hope we'd love because it would be our first meal that would keep us wise all day. Let's begin an ironic revolution where the world doesn't know the time and we invest whole-heartedly in the moment. There are so many dots on this page. They dripped onto us from the other words. And it's times like these that I realize there are leaks in the roof that you'll never fix and I'm setting up pots, and pans, and buckets, and anything that will gather the ocean before it wipes us away.






And I do believe there was nothing said at all yet you fell inlove with it and that's when nothing felt like absolutely everything.

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