You will not know enough. You will ...

You will not know enough. You will not know when to stop. single in kind day you'll wake mid-afternoon distant from yourself as if a certain number of switch has occurred in the nouns of the summer novel of your life. You've become a log hauled from the brawling breaking waves no, someone named Myrtle, no, a indigent translucent thing squalling in the golden tub. You must be patient equable though within you is a launching, a propulsion like about favorite song played in a waiting stead to drown out the drill. At an point everything will be danced to. Violins rush forward seeming to recognize you. Music and limping,