This is a photo of my brother and I. His backpack near mine, together I suppose, with ideal plants shaping our personalities with each other and the world. Complete on a road to remain — I love him, you know.
It looks like he is to remain a little longer.
But a prospect of slight assurance is coming from another end
Perhaps crap things happen here so better things can emerge there
It’s a lesson learned everywhere I suppose, in all tales with rising actions and climaxes. But the resolution isn’t this one
I want to shape mine, make sure it’s perfect — I need to make sure it was composed of its purpose, all the intelligentsia and deed in tact (I pray he might be back before then)
Otherwise I pray to meet him in a prettier place —
My Lord is Merciful and He is Kind. He has blessed me with a girding type of kindness, enveloping, slowly embracing, thank you thank you thank you.
I didn’t think he wasn’t to return sooner, but it’s okay, it has to be okay if I am to fulfill whatever that is, everything I suppose
No confoundedness. No anxiety. Thank you thank you for the perfect cuts, the bad blood oozes out, it’s not too coagulated, thinning as it leaves the body
The earth shrinks and slows its revolutions
Then it’ll be black and there will be honor
There will be all the honor.