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it sounds like a meal, not really a mouthful, more of a drink. it's home is outside, hidden underneath, but it's hard to stay still. it wants to be free but is not under threat, for being mistaken and unknown. it's a bit unfair being hidden in the shadows like this, not much of a good deal.
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It consumes you, filling your mind and lets you rest. It belongs to death in the west and to the unknown in the east. It never blurs, its shades are one. It is absence and presence and it shakes the foundations of thought.
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