The conversation turned to dust off our memories, memoires and grimoires. It was shortened by the tears we shed and the laughter of the hopes we bread. We, how we met, by chance, by fate, by alacrity, synchronicity, by the reverie, by sanctity through destiny, our serendipity? Our debate urned our lost, then turned to cast or bury, I remarked that all our saints are grouped in the early part of our year excepted for the fisherman, who is my name.
I will not blog the planned iteration of my disintegration after destruction, until much later. Later in June when the poppies bloom.
It may be too gone until you hear me again utter anything other than no plan, quick reaction commentary, knee jerk flight.
Just Enjoy Today.