JOY OR DUST
Every wave rushes over the sea in search of a shore; every sperm rushes blindly in search of a patiently waiting egg; blood and thoughts rush through your flesh and mine searching for or protecting the reasons why we got out of bed this morning; the foolish and the wise treading the same path into fields of oblivion or salvation, holding a lifeline of faith or defiance. The battering winds of doubt would grind me into meaningless dust but I have made my choice, have you? Merry Christmas.
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