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In the murky hole, the bright
blue-mauve sheen sits like a breeze upon the belly of an inland lake, it sits gently on the surface caught more by the lack of forces than by any real grasp. With the slightest sound or softness of outward thoughts it threatens to vaporize into memory leaving only goose bumps upon the naked vision. So fragile! So fragile! So fragile!
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Author"Words are clumsy pretenders of the images of my mind." Categories
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