All friendships fray. Only time lost, these reflections on the wreckage. The tears well, but Jimmy says, Move on. No time to toss a bucket into what is, after all, a useless matter. These tears, no sense to them, yet here they are, prodding these words to spill forth from my consciousness, useless puddles you can�t even water grass with. Like my mother once said to me, Your words are too late.




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