The only thing that cannot be said correctly is the truth. It has no echo. Thrown against vertical walls what returns is only melancholy blue. Or pinks and oranges of sunset on a day when you did nothing, on a day when you were alone and the sky cried sounds your heart heard.
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The only thing that cannot be said correctly is the truth. It has no echo. Thrown against vertical walls what returns is only melancholy blue. Or pinks and oranges of sunset on a day when you did nothing, on a day when you were alone and the sky cried sounds your heart heard.