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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Other >> ID #1555185 |   |
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Gods dare not gaze at so much horizon, and yet there she was.
Standing, confident, at the top of a grate mountain. A strong wind blowing through her hair, as if wishing to borrow some of her freedom. As he crossed the street, a short breeze pet him on the shoulder, as if trying to say 'not all is lost'. But nothing could ever be lost if she wasn't there to begin with.
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