Why can't we get on the busstop early everyday?
Laundry? Prep? Breakfast? Its the same everyday, but a cog in the wheel each morning makes the routine a memory, everyday.
Its a harrowing lifestyle, but all too familiar. All too soon, they'll be gone and the hush, like the hush of the hawks nest that I passed the other day will be nothing but a memory.
The memories of the screams and squeals of the happy home. The crazy home, but the happy home.
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