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■ The oak
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I folded time in a piece of paper
and trapped inside, your burning image, embedded in the amber of a dream, frozen by winds of awaiting. A scent of impatience fell within and called you up with sounds of shattering, to release you, to heal the sin. You’re neither to be captured nor to be kept... Then you rose, as a ghostly whisper blossomed by time, unveiled by night. For a moment, you were mine ...
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