Vitals

Life was on the edge of its seat waiting for a broken convention. To be capsized again in an eternal depth of floating freedoms. Sinking further into the abyss of my vitals. Mary strung sequins of a life not yet lived. I will go sailing. Gone are the notebooks of seasons won and here I find myself where the boats go.

Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Return of the Herd

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