Saturday morning quickly becomes Wednesday afternoon and here's looking at you setting sun. Simplicity in growth and the city forgot. No one knows. Dead and buried are the Heros, Long winded are the no-shows, and digital are the homes. Everyone wants to be somebody. To free something. But nothing makes the surface. We sink to learn to swim. Ignorant to sadness. And while the homeless have their handout hope, the hopeless stay home with the doors locked. Privacy knocked and asked for the spare key but that would take a certain sort of frindship. Like schoolship times before we lost our wooden hearts. Before we removed the night time disco ball club scene sunglasses to learn how to see. Down on won knee says the coaches But instead we shoulda lost cuz the future never answers the oportunity costs - nothing can save as becoming is successful. Its stressful being trapped next to a vampire sea horse in an ocean of regretful. Promises we break. Orgasms; fake. And hezitations clear the wake of what's insightful. But we are hopeful and will never drop our cause. Pause...
Set, sun. Set.
Don't worry, the hours you're away are not enough to forget:
The breeze
The waves
The birds
The clouds
The life you bring
See you tomorrow...
Hey.
Let's make it a good one.
Photo and Words by Dustin Whitehead.
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