To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again
I used to know a man
he lived downstairs
he smoked cigarets
and he was my friend.
his hair was in the shade of wisdom
his shiny shoes spoke only of class
and just by looking at him, you would know he was a good man.
and then one day he was gone…
just like that
me and my friend never played ball again
we never spoke
and he never shoveled the stairs of snow
we never played badminton or laugh just because
his wise words vanished with him and all of his stories gone to the grave
all that was left behind was memories.
Memories to which I hold onto dearly for he was my friend.
He wanted to go back home,back home to Ireland
he never quite did make it
but I hope that he is in a good place now
because now when I look out the window and he is not there
I miss him
who cares about money growing on trees… in the shower is where its at!
(Source: , via lovemetoinfinity)
