We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.
Monday, August 08, 2005
ruins on a cloud
and an old style chendol cafe in the sleepy town.
sometimes, i don't know why we have to talk. talk is empty.
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