Sitting through the far too
familiar unnecessary conversations
my vitality takes a blow.
Next week too far away to
think about what I have to say.
Back to my notebook,
always at my fingers,
always under my thumb...
Receiving random thoughts without judgement...
Holding stories for the hollow and lonely,
of Spanish Galleons sailing through the dark night...
Tales carefully refined and sealed over, left in dust and then tossed away....
Just like life, and the sum of days.
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