It's hard to properly relish the present without feeling some bittersweet tinge to it, knowing times both good and bad will eventually pass us by. The traces they leave behind aren't always pleasant either, but all the same we cling to these for dear life, and we hate with a vengeance what we can't let go of. What lies ahead is never as bloody scary (think Frank Bunny) as the prospect, because we have no choice but to constantly approach the future at some mysterious speed beyond our comprehension, much less control. That said, we haven't got a choice, and that's all we need to keep going. The past needs to be buried before it turns putrid. I can't do anything about what happened, but I can help you do that - if you'll let me.
Scent of sex and New Found Glory
Playing as she's pulling back her hair.
(Evening twilight on Hipstamatic: John Smith lens and Pistil film)
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