It's a test in life turned into a time of sorrow and joy like sweet and sour or a cold sweat. With my head on backwards I can't check the miles ahead or forget what I've left behind. My past isn't my futire though that's how I see it. With each step ahead I leave a tiny thread, just so I can find my way back: back to the choices and the laughter that filled my room and all the treasures I've burried to dig them back up. I trust our trial of life that we've spent haven't been your regret. As we pass the grave sites and see the familiar stones that mark stories of failure and some of heroism, the train will pass by as my hat is blown away. Did I do all I could as time slipped through my fingers like a bar pof soap in the shower? A soft whisper of love flies through the air with every step missed just so I could catch up. If I turned around and lived the past but could see the future, would I be better off? Would I see the light in the child's eye or the cloud over a troubled soul? Each side of the road is covered in water as far as I
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