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There was a low, ominous rumbling, a strange train coming, and it came with a dark finality. I felt in that silent stillness that all life had ended, or at least mine, an apple severed by a great hand from the tree. But a miracle, I was able to endure, to see the pale morning moon; and she was just as the frail, white clouds, with only her roundness to distinguish her. And it was so that my joy became my sadness became my guilt, for I should not be here

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Thank you :-)

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