Three Hundred Fifty

I watched the day creep along, hobbling along like an old man with a bent and unusable walking stick, insisting it was enough to support him. He insisted he was strong enough to hobble up the hill. I shouldn’t have listened. He rolled down the hill, a rolling pin out of control on a brutal slope. No, this didn’t happen. But it might have. And I wonder if I would have prevented the accident.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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