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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1369271
The feeling of nostalgia is responsible for this.
The dirt clings to my fingers like remnants do
The particles swirl off the digits like memories from a mind
History so fresh, so refined
New dust, born out of the mundane, the planed, the ancient
It catches in the light just /so/
To reveal splendors never beheld
Pictures from the storm
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1369271-Storm