It was that kind of weird afternoon,
Terrifically hot, and no cloud out or anything,
And you felt like
you were disappearing
everytime you crossed a road.
Y. That perfect letter. The wishbone, the fork in the road, left or right, up or down, wrong or right, black or white. The continual question on our lips as we grow up, migrate, move on or stand still. It is both a question and an answer all in one - The empty wineglass, Yes No Maybe. The question we ask over and over. Over.
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