I feel like I’m on fire, fighting for a moment on respite – I’m not placing bets.
M.K. STANDBYThe bond of friendship as tight as any lover – where shoulders carry shared burden, a devotion unmatched by any other.
More M.K. Standby Quotes
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The smell of oak reminds me of summers spent sleeping under canvas, crackling fires and roasted coffee, the soft sound of guitar and voices in unison.
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I sit by the sea wall, willing the waves to stay. Pulling away with gentle abandon – they avenge me for doing the same.
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And when I imagine my home – above all else, I’ll always think of you.
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My throat burns with the words left unspoken, air hangs still and silence hides the words you long to hear – stay.
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I’m scared of mediocrity, of scribing my soul on fading pages, each destined to the fate that met those before it – gently laid to rest in a growing pile of unwanted words.
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The rain reminds me of his voice, a perfectly composed melody in the sky. Each drop that falls against my window, a dedication to the oceans I would cross – just to sit beside him.
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Spirits dance on a velvet night, the sky it’s deepest black. In restless sleep and twisted dreams, they find themselves alive.
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Hollow intent and echoes affection, a call with no response. Who could trust a dormant heart – where apathy is shaped like love?
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We didn’t know it was simpler, did we? Those days of sunburnt youth and carefree adventure. Knowing that indestructible optimism would waver with experience – would I have gripped it a little tighter? Held on a little longer?
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The bond of friendship as tight as any lover – where shoulders carry shared burden, a devotion unmatched by any other.
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A fight of a thousand years – the smart mind and the hopeful heart.
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And in the end when the money is gone – will you still stay it was worth it.
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My thoughts feel like plagiarism – a feeling already felt, the words already written.
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Leaves dance on twisted arms, swaying on the breeze as though choreographed by unseen hands. Even the faithless could find themselves converts, by the smell of dampened earth and its blossoming rose.
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Building a fire from a ash, what did I expect?
M.K. STANDBY