We, like the rising sun,
rays freely unabashed,
spilling over into clouds,
all colors and bright,
or maybe more like the rainy day.
To just sit and watch the drops fall,
moving grey and unhurried,
quiet and slow.
I will think of you sometimes,
memories enclosed in objects,
folded over in paper,
all these moments.
Life that collects dust,
like lines from a story,
happily without end.
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