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05/26/20

Sitting in the solitude of your chance-made garden, you watch the wind dancing the leaves of the tallest trees. In this moment, the last thing you want is for the streams to descend the lengthy limbs, sliding ever closer to your carefully set self. But you and he and them and the air can never stay still for long.
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Written by
anne-m-1
Published
May 26, 2020
Lines·Words
15·59
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