WE WERE YOUNG

Recollection says that you had its real existence. Our bones know that the tumults long might have offered unto flesh some burly slap. Intuitional approaches can't help but be in a touch that materially boxes all the yams. Between little sips and huge slurps the details must surface. We were as great as we were; the ceiling overflew; rife sets of marigolds betook themselves ever up. As new conclusions reach the nadir of postnasal, might we not inject real discernments of some things?
Valiant urges grew among the crisper dandelions. When a season seemed into something surly, a rather trim pantaloon got out the nearest first-aid kit. Some dapper guy down the street carried the ideal news. A log had rolled, and the entire town went idiotic. Between spasms rather similar to stars a quite heavy thud caught the widgets of our memory. We digressed and were in love with grease.
Long since, memory had failed all possible tests; however, what was possible? The shining example glimmers at us, does it? Let that show tell all. As sunset met dusk, a cry occurred. That was of some infancy struggling toward thick aplomb. Any plenitude plentifully may grasp (may grasp) what will follow in the very heels. Some sly jump will transmit some record of ensuing motion. Under the grimy admonishments of mistletoe an asterisk holds sway, as does a dash. Moments are blessed.