Oh beauty, you are mine.
Sweet words on the wind,
The mistral divine.
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Oh beauty, you are mine.
Sweet words on the wind,
The mistral divine.
You aren’t leaving anything, he glowed at the sky. It’s a matter of going to, the adventure is nigh.
She found herself by the river. Ancient story, not his but hers. She held onto the sky and tended branches, like gardens. She rested and time wandered restlessly, only pausing for passage. Her feet were rooted and mud-bound, slippered in slime.The river washed past and presented a future that mocked the moment. Still she held on to the edge.