Things were not perfect,
but they were enough to make me happy,
someday,
not today,
not tomorrow,
but many Suns and Moons from now,
when the stranger who isn't born yet will turn the page,
looking for the green light,
and the dock,
and the past,
and who would end up in the skyscraper,
like a metropolitan,
contemplating the jump in '29,
pulling bricks out of a file cabinet,
disturbed,
sleepless,
and addicted to words written by someone else,
someone who better understood the nonsense
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