No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.
All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.
Doesn't all experience crumble in the end to mere literary material?
It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me.
The #friend who can be #silent with us in a
#moment . . . Check it out
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