Strumming guitars, making scratching sounds along their strings, tempting life to escape in moods of lively memories
that are to be remembered in moments of another phase of living here on earth.
Realizing how temporary human life is, holding on as best as possible, knowing that one day there will be nothing left to hold onto, out on a limb, with nothing left to say because in the end, all will have been said as death takes each of us into our own grave, flowers marking the spot for a while.
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