we were looking toward the tree line. the sun flirted with some clouds like it was prom night in the sky. I was dangling over and under of friends turned up all together. at the same time. having the right time means glancing down at those hands or to wind them up sometimes so they'll spin true and reveal more accurately if we're where we should be, or who and what we'll remember; the chance we may never reach any peak while ankle deep in our native ground. I'm just a piece of this jagged puzzle where we live and we die. I wouldn't trade it for the world, and if i was born any different it wouldn't have been for me to decide.
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