Imagine if your whole life was a metaphor, the idea, from the seed, to the echo of the end, encapsulating, all for the heavens to say a sentence, an expression or opinion, I wouldn’t discount the possibility of it, lord knows, we’re all cups, making up a bigger jar, the spirit flowing through and connecting us, it may not even be considered us, the sun and the moon, their love story, and all the bullshit filling each crack, does youth and virginity exist, maybe just as an idea, anyways happy birthday, call me when you’re eighteen…

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