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Literature Text
The mesmerizing
undying touch
of times passing
has me hypnotized
The slow progression
of sudden decay
is predictability
in and of itself
Tomorrow kills
today executes
and yesterday
buries the victims
You never need
to dig very deep
if you're searching
for fresh corpses.
undying touch
of times passing
has me hypnotized
The slow progression
of sudden decay
is predictability
in and of itself
Tomorrow kills
today executes
and yesterday
buries the victims
You never need
to dig very deep
if you're searching
for fresh corpses.
![[OPEN] Adopt 1086](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/65621037-7a77-40c5-9120-63e0ec0255b1/dgbdr0m-12f60620-9f43-42c1-863c-842f67f7da2c.png/v1/fill/w_350,h_350,q_70,strp/_open__adopt_1086_by_aiadoptshop_dgbdr0m-350t.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.AHCME_O3VJLBwTDm992aMa2VAFeu9dy7ITjIbom4-Uw)
Literature
Age
My hands have never been as heavy as they are now. Looking at my fingers, withered by time and hardships, I recall their former lightness as I bent timber into pieces of art—so agile and precise. As I sit here in front of the workbench I made decades ago, the same workbench in front of which I used to spend night after night pouring every ounce of my being, of my soul even, I am reminded of how much has changed. As I sit here and gently run my calloused, numb hand across the same old wood, which although has no ears to hear me, I still feel the need to apologise to—for my inability. It hurt. It hurt to look at my countless tools, knowing I’ll NEVER use them again, pains me more than my diminishing health ever could. Ever since I become like this, all I do is come here in my workshop and just sit. It was difficult to come here today. I slipped and fell down the steps to the basement. I've fallen down before, but today was more painful than ever. Getting up was hard, and my knees still
Literature
The Echo Makers, Ch. 42
At first the move to the sugar bush had seemed like the right choice. As the days passed and sugar time faded into Spring Ajijaak began to regret this choice. With her family Wiinizik hid her sadness, but at home alone she did not. When Ajijaak tried to engage her in conversation she often pretended not to see Ajijaak’s signals. A distance had formed between them and grew wider with the passing of each night.She did not want his affection. She did not even seem to want his presence. He knew he should have taken her to his noko, but here, entrenched in her family, he knew she would not go with him, now.The Spring with all its bright flowers, flowers that Wiinizik usually rejoiced in turned to Summer. She did not get better, but she did not get worse. If only the sisters would come to the village, like they came to the island. The sisters would help her, but the village had its own Midewiwin and they would not trespass on his territory. Ajijaak had gone to him and gotten various
Literature
Relearning
It's been years since I've tasted velocity Such a nostalgically frightening feeling Off to the end of the vacant street Pretty damn nervous, but knowing that It's absolutely necessary Speeding up, slowing down, going straight A smooth cruise until I decided to test the Length of my leprechaun legs Down I went, along with the mountain of metal A faint chuckle left my mouth once my back and The dirt became ephemeral friends Wholesome blunder Safe trip back Strange pondering throughout the day Looks like I'm gonna have to do some relearning...
Rebound
to unbroken
cracks
to unbroken
cracks
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