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The Field Where I Died

2192
Thu, 27 Jan 2011 at 09:13pm

Sometimes I walk the grounds of my home as if I were asleep, in a dream that I can’t wake up from. I see my life, the past, the future. I see them clearer than the present. All of it is real and I am a dream. The grass is tall and blows in the wind. The trees creak as their boughs are given life from the air. And I am a stone. I see again the goal as it once stood out to me. In the past, it was the way of things, the future of what was real and just. It gave life as I gave it breath. The truth of what is to be. What I see is the truth. What I see… It makes no difference.

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