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Not So Pretty
Days are long gloomy and grey when you're not so pretty.
Years have come and gone and so has the desire to search for them. Days fade into weeks. Weeks fade into years. Looking back the winding road as it becomes engulfed with fog it seems like a blurry dream. Through the fog i hear faint laughter of the me i once was. Such a blissful sound, full of youth and love. The memory fades and forward i go down the worn path into uncertainty.
Stopping for a drink from a stream i stair into rippled reflections of age and i feel not so pretty. Clouds race by reminding me i must move on to ...