A box of stories, left, on my front porch, with absolutely NO indications of where it’d come, or who it was from…
A box of stories I’d stumbled upon, and, I’d, taken them all in as my own (no plagiarisms though…), I’d, internalized these tales given to me to keep, they’d, become, mine now.
delivered, to your front doors…not my photo.
A box of stories, I’d now, packaged up, and sent them all out, for someone else who might find them just as interesting as I had as I gobbled them all up, and if someone felt bored by this box of stories that I’m currently passing around (like those 100 Bottles of Beers on the Wall???), well, that would NOT, be my problem now, would it?
A box of stories, I’d kept, like those ancient photos of you from before, then, one day, I’d, carelessly, tossed away, this box of stories that we once shared, because there’s only limited amount of living space, and, I need more room………
A box of stories, I’m no longer in need of them, got ALL my stories in a row (like those ducks???), and, I’m done, living these, tales of woes, of sorrows, and horrors now!
the life we often give to the objects here, not my photograph still…
Life, the Obstacle Course 
I blog often and I genuinely appreciate your content.
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I’m going to book mark your site and keep checking for new details about once a week.
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Glad this article had peaked your interests, and thanks for subscribing to my feeds and being interested in what i’m blogging about on here.
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