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  • Writer's pictureNic

Letter to friends 5.23.17

The hours are like water that I cannot keep ahold of, slipping through my fingers, running away.

Poured on the ground, soaked by the earth, leaving just a damp mark to signify its’ presence.

My life, it is evaporating, transfigured into what I pour myself into. Am I grateful? Do I wonder at the dew, clouds and rain my time becomes?

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