Life is a house of cards. Weaving on the sandy bottom. You will know if it grows and grows if each shoot from the one calls forth a shoot from the other you will feel it a growing together a walking next to one another down a beach of infinite duration on a journey which seems of utmost importance though you sense it to have no end and no destination yet will it seem of crucial significance you will know and at some point on the journey mid-step you will turn your head slightly to the left and you will see the companion whom you have grown to love as your very self you will look and you will know. Dried grass and three leaves adorn the lawn. Ruined temples to Gods long lost are strategically placed throughout the town.
Ammo sings in the streets.
Exiles are still an improvement. The burnings at twelve o'clock low have stopped. Under the sand, the grass, the growth so green it dazzles you. Perhaps you'll return, in terms of commitments. Windy days seem lost without the magic of your words.