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And only the enlightened can recall their former lives; for the rest of us, the memories of past existences are but glints of light, twinges of longing, passing shadows, disturbingly familiar, that are gone before they can be grasped, like the passage of that silver bird on Dhaulagiri.
— Peter Matthiessen, “The Snow Leopard”

❀.1927 – 2014. (via animus-inviolabilis)
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It’s how the the stars crave for the darkness
in order to shine so brightly for everyone.
It’s the way the waves long to kiss the shores.
This is almost like that first book you read
that gave you a gut-wrenching feeling
when you reached the last page,
and now your hands wish to trace its pages all over again.
It’s like a field of flowers waiting for droplets from the clouds
or like a string of shooting stars anticipating for someone’s wish.
This is the eighteen sunrises that touched the sky
and the eighteen sunsets that grazed the edge of the ocean.
This is the sunlit tomorrows resting
behind shadowed todays.
It’s planting seeds in the backyard,
hoping for the day when the lilies will bloom.
It’s how magnets gravitate toward each other,
no matter how far they’re pulled apart.
It’s the way people replay old films
to unfold forgotten or buried memories.

I guess what I’m trying to say is
this is me missing you.

(I miss you)
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