It__ not words, but years we should be editing. Remember: time spent on bad art is a form of redundancy, doing the same thing twice is a form of tautology, and wasting precious moments complaining about life is a form of pleonasm. We should all learn to live our lives concisely.
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memory-quote
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He was both everything I could ever want_And nothing I could ever have_
The last time I felt alive _ I was looking into your eyes.Breathing your air_. touching your skin_ Saying goodbye_.The last time I felt alive_. I was dying.
I miss that feeling of connection.Knowing he was out there somewhere thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.
If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard.And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.
I had someone once who made every day mean something.And now_. I am lost_.And nothing means anything anymore.
_the sad part is, that I will probably end up loving you without you for much longer than I loved you when I knew you.Some people might find that strange.But the truth of it is that the amount of love you feel for someone and the impact they have on you as a person, is in no way relative to the amount of time you have known them.
Your memory feels like home to me.So whenever my mind wanders, it always finds it__ way back to you.
A person experiences time by traveling through the environment consisting of time and space, and encounters a variety of sense impressions. Time is the combined experience and cataloguing what is taking place now, a recollecting what took place before now, and the anticipation or expectation of a person registering future physical and mental sensations. Time is a happening that will arrive from the future and it will last for about as long as it takes to a person to inhale and exhale one deep bodily breath. In each recognizable segment of time, a person experiences in a thematic breathing cycle a tangible sense perception of either seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, or some combination thereof. Then that distinct morsel of life detected by the physical senses passes from the slipstream of now and lodges into the silted fold of bygone memories.