And our best efforts at permanence
Will all fall under
These crumbling halls of monuments
Our legacy asunder
Time itself the architect
An insufficient architecture
The maps by which we move
From breath to breath
Are drawn on assumptions
And subtle missteps
The sun itself a traveler
Wanders even unto death
When I was a child, I learned first to grasp
Then I learned to hold
Then I learned to count
Then I learned to hold on
Then I learned to miss
But
I never learned how to let go
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.. -. ... ..- ..-. ..-. .. -.-. .. . -. - .- .-. -.-. .... .. - . -.-. - ..- .-. .
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