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pass it on.

i’ve sat more than any man should want to, but there’s a dimension to the sitting that adds a sense of calm, of unknown-until-you-know elapsings of time. i enjoy philosophy, the addition and realignment of thoughts and the dissection of what is held to be infallible. What a clam, life. To see the shell as being all there is, without the want of crushing it open or awaiting its opening, that is what I fear. That, and love. Both are such strange attractions as to be completely opposite, while wholly the same; they are the perusal of intricacies and delicacies from which all understandings are easily seen or reached to. I saw a man, riding his bike, down the middle of a car-lined street, in a neighborhood just off campus, where the houses rarely top one story, and her trees rarely stand above the halfway point of a pine. He smiled, greeted, and gave a thumb to me, upward. I understood, as he had allowed me the ability to, and I thanked him with a likened smile and a greeting’s back. Love and life are the same in that regard. When living, you love; when loving, you live. I never saw myself in the mirror much, but when I do now, I smile, as, a stranger’s smile has been given to me, and mine to them. Pass it on.

as much as i try to, i fail to leave you
improvisational

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