Outpouring magic.

Trust me when I say you are magic in this hopeless world. When the greens are at their peak and the blues are at their best. When the full moon is lingering and the waters are smashing against the mossy rocks, it’s home. When our shadows are lunging and the very Being is struck by the chords of the air guitar you play while I’m lost in the depth of this weird feeling. What is it? I don’t want to know. I’m too afraid of knowing now.


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