The world is not enough.

Every experience in my life is as fresh as the day it happened.
Every laughing fit.
Every heartbreak.
Every sly remark and heartfelt gesture.
Every place, person and idea.
Strewn about on the surface of my mind, in-concealable, dancing idly forever on the edge of my periphery.

They remain unattainable to my focus, which directs only upon the nature of the land beneath me, and the sky above.

“Life is not enough” some have said, but it is quite the opposite.

Life is too much.


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