Dear Diary,
Elegant waves of chill, masked as discourse, drain the fellow clouds above. There would never be another day, where the ground says to the sky, I believe in you.
Terrible nothingness roils in the daily needs to be seen. And in that vision become whole again.
Even as that thought drifts away, onto another rocky path that leads out of sight.
What is your Sunday mood,
x~J
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