Three friends sitting in a living room, doubled over in laughter.
A big bowl of cereal with not enough milk.
Someone's old sweater, two sizes too big.
Last night's inspiration feverishly scribbled upon a table top.
A window.
A pink sky.
Eyes that have lost their exhaustion, but none of their excitement.
"Every minute is a memory.
You don't exist; you're just a ghost to me."
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Go with grace.