that's mrs. mediocrity to you

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wisdom

never comes the way you think it will, never through planned lessons, marked milestones, expected losses. it slaps you in the face in the guise of moon at midnight, vines itself round your ankle in the garden at dawn, stabs you in the heart at noon and rips away forever. silence is the absence of sound, and i haven’t heard the robins in such a long time.

the trees are tracing pattern
on a fake pearl grey of sky
and i am racing forward

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