The shine turns to dust.
The moon is a memory.
Life becomes a mold of two beings on a faded matress.
Forever is a golden sparkle which never loses shine.
Hair becomes like guitar strings, worn out by life's songs.
Roads become highways.
Gardens are over grown.
Chores are finally finished.
Some left undone.
*the arguments are endless circles which we need o stop and fling ourselves out of*
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