Children; so innocent, pure. Unaffected by the thorns in the bed of roses. As time goes by the thorns sink into the subtle soul...
Soft ivory sinking into the key slip making their sound sone into the vial distance....
The blank space we create is an illusion - the suffering minds suffering confusion. Walking forth blind folded...
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8/5/2026 2:52:00 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77