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He fed her with hands of plague,
and she embraced it with a heart
steeped in grace.
Falling sick, she wept—not from pain,
but in love.
She sees and senses the extraordinary,
breathtaking realms—unseen, untouched,
revealing themselves through the
verses of a song.

Not just glimpses, but the true
magnificence bound to them,
as if they arrive in her presence,
spilling their essence,
wrapping her in their splendor.

Each place is a signature sensation.
Each space holds a code—a sacred mystery,
decoded through shifting tunes.

Flashes emerge, of places that never were,
yet have always been—
illuminated, ethereal, impossibly real.
She does not write to match
perception, nor tailor her words
to gain acceptance.

She pours out her raw essence—
Undiluted, unfiltered, never refined
for the sake of consumption.
Her feelings are primitive,
Her thoughts, inventive—
A soul born at the eclipse
of origin and dissolution,
unbound by existence,
indivisible by destruction.
Darling,
You were never—
Held by my heart,
Carried by my senses,
Flowing in my breath,
Attached to my soul,
Bound to my core;
Not even woven into
the fabric of my life force.

For you were always that
formless truth—
the silent force that held
and shaped my very source.

— The End —