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Decanted memories stream by as hegreen strives to arrive at that period In neighbourhoods on the outskirts of this city, in time. what it once was, what they hoped it would become are lost. Life exists in the margins, yet we tend to forget, drifting toward fixed points, physically, mentally.
This land has no name, pavement bordering the grass pauses the grandfather, yet it hasOn hadthe countless travellers traverse its fringes, struggling to recall what it was that once stood here, played host to thousands ofdetails footballofmatches, he was at her age. and beenwhen a fertile playground for many a canine beast.
Its luscious grasses a vibrant green, evade perception in plain sight. Too vast, too ubiquitous to notice, landdesires has nocriss name... now... I remember it used to be paths of “This muddied cross withbut disregard. something...”
neighbourhoods on the outskirts of this green city, This landInhas no name... what it once was, what they hoped it would become are lost.
yet it has had countless travellers traverse its fringes, played host to thousands of football matches, and been a fertile playground for many a canine beast.
Pur the into
“This land has no name... now... but I remember it used to be something...” This land has no name, because those who reshaped it and the communities around could not see what he saw, the grass pauses the grandfather, On the pavement bordering they never understand what knew, struggling to would recall details of what it was thatheonce stood here, when he was at her age. The distance between ideals was too great. In the intervening space, only distrust boiling to contempt. Decanted memories stream by as he strives to arrive at that period in time. Life exists in the margins, yet we tend to forget, drifting toward fixed points, physically, mentally. An inner episode goes flitting...
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