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Aug 2022
time is sand to the gaps through my fingers
air to a drifting feather
a current to the water
it seeps through
it flows
it wipes off
never keeps tracks nor leaves prints
never tangible nor stays still
the closest we can get is a swirl of its moments
the stretched writings of the faint memories
it keeps you on your toes
it leaves you breathless
it never stays as it was
witching hour
Written by
witching hour  23/F
(23/F)   
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