spirt

Live for your country, die to yourself; live for yourself, die to your country.

I love letting my soul soar on a summer breeze, or getting entranced by the rhythm of the sea. It carries you off on its currents until you__e completely lost and then drops you back on the shores of reality with salt on your cheeks and grains of dreams running through your fingers like sand. It__ almost an occasional necessity _ I guess because when you get completely, fantastically, dizzyingly lost you__e temporarily suspended between what has been and what could be. In those first moments when you come back up for air, or when you float back down to the ground, you__e living in the land of possibility, where you understand that reality can stretch just as far as you__e willing to dream.