Saturday, June 10, 2017

Burn it.

Torch the night with our love, burn it all to smithers; live like you don't know us; like death is not the winner, like this moment is a monument.

We will find ourselves old and dried out, and find shade in the shadow cast by this monument and this fire.

And then you'll sue my memory; and what we were will crumble in that present and live but in the hearts of those that burn brightest and dream the most.

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