And the gush of air leaves his mouth and into the cold mountain air, mushrooming a cloud over his mouth. The sound of peace, of clarity, solace; moreover, of a tangible end.
That warm circle, enveloped by the varying types of material wall, embodied by ‘h’. But what are these walls? What is the font that writes over “h”? The painter paints the painting, but the painting defines the printer.
The core of these walls, the heart of the scared or bejeweled body.
The poet wishes to remain anonymous, but is of the class of 2013.
In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars (fitzgerald) and somewhere in the dawn of the late night and early morning you taught me how to live — here’s to the endless conversations, reckless adventures, and the mad ones who stumbled through the maze with me.
It was brilliant. Wonderful people and many happy memories. I could never have imagined two years like this. I’ll miss it. But hey, The journey goes on, to make it a life worth living. Have a blast. And write letters.
Life’s like a wild river. For the most part, it’s an uncontrollable flow of water, taking certain things along, leaving certain things behind, usually without our control. Sometimes however, we get a chance, an opportunity, a branch we can grab onto to make our lives a little bit better. We can however not escape the wild river forever and at some time these beautiful intermissions come too an end. The wild river will now slowly wash away the service, the diploma periods, the Friday nights at Marcross or whatever makes AC worthwhile for you, but there are always things that get dragged along with the current. To me, these are the people. The ones that I’ve gotten so extremely close and used to.In the end, all we take with us are friendships for life and some memories.