A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
...
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Around each individual grain of sand a film of grey powder waits like an elephant on the surface of the world. The elephant holds the fertile dirt, the decayed detritus, the ages of forgotten books under its imposing weight. We build ourselves out of the remains.
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Around each individual grain of sand a film of grey powder waits like an elephant on the surface of the world. The elephant holds the fertile dirt, the decayed detritus, the ages of forgotten books under its imposing weight. We build ourselves out of the remains.