When did our imagination become something so hard to find? Dreams and conjured illusions become something like a scapegoat that temporarily excuses us from the banal. The thought of having hope or possibility begin to pale in gray.
Can't I want? Can I not revel in it and use words like forever, never, or always?
Be that perpetual child. It has already been found.
Can't I want? Can I not revel in it and use words like forever, never, or always?
Be that perpetual child. It has already been found.
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