Memories are markers in time. They trace paths that we can see but never walk again. Sometimes memories become anchors in time and though the world moves on around us and our reflection changes shape, we have never left that spot where the anchor was let out.
Strange how the French have affected my life from time to time.
I love you Jorge. I love you Lanny. I love you Tyler. While my arms can grow tired, my heart seems to be perfectly capable of maintaining the the memories that mark our pieces of time.
Rest.
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The daily jazz of my mind, as pure & honest as possible; but know that words are themselves filters of the original thought/idea.
