Our Lake Temples

Wicked hearts! We swing our arms like rows as we wade into the sunken temples of our future selves, the stones our hands carved out from the mountains we saw as children, that land now a deep and walled ditch in the ground filled with a lake of memories and the wailing faces of friends who wanted us to stay, but refused to go with us, and now we wait someday for the drop-off as we push our bodies forward, when our feet will lose the bottom and our hands will wave above us like slow sinking sails, because we told ourselves we had to keep going, but all we ever do is fall back into what we left behind.

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