On perfect mornings like this instead of being in it’s perfection I think of how there must be perfect mornings like this every day in Shelter Island, only a couple of weeks ago. Why do I want to be somewhere else, every time?
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On perfect mornings like this instead of being in it’s perfection I think of how there must be perfect mornings like this every day in Shelter Island, only a couple of weeks ago. Why do I want to be somewhere else, every time?
tinfoilparachute 