some things ruin.
some things carry a tradition of imperfection long after they're gone.
to be honest, i know not what will be mine.
i just want to leave something behind. but then again
who doesn't want to be remembered for who they were
how they lived. it's one of those complicated things. not even sure where to start
or where to end.
i start here.
i end at the cross.
this post contains 78 words. no more, no less. exactly 78 words, minus this caption.
put your pen to page.
what can you imagine...what can you inspire in 78 words?
link up below. put the image in your post, and link back so we can all be blessed.
(inspired by Esquire's short short fiction contest)