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The first real days of spring can never really be wasted

How I always miss the way the sun dances on my face

People and their canines walking by

A Sunday funday in the sun

Another season encompassing everything beautiful just begun

No longer must we seek for reason

It is too plain to see, warm to touch

The sun ignites the same atoms within me capable of blush

It has always been my most tempting drug

In the one percent of entities that satisfy my soul, that could be confused with love

We feel that which we wish to see

Self-actualization that pulled or pushed you to or from me

Shakespeare so eloquently revealed it—to be or not to be

With nothing in-between, how free we would be to come and to go

To be human is to be tormented by the certainty that we cannot always know

Leaps of faith—departures to save face; and holding on because all too familiar is the way loneliness tastes

We are driven by what is in-between point A and point B

No matter where I end up it is where my heart not my feet have taken me

I need them both for these dreams I sometimes see and wish to believe

The first days of spring will always find me happy and never in-between.

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