He felt he owned everything. With time he was left with nothing. One after the other he lost them all.
Castles made of sand. Dreams are no different. All things beautiful. They all are the same. He picked up the empty match box. Lone thing left behind. The only thing he now can claim.
Time steals. Things he never had. And, never will. Strangers he never met. Faces that pretend. Fake smiles that fool.
He needs not them. The match box he held. Empty though. He can call his own.
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