stationary

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Stars littered the sky, these distant particles dusting the darkness. And below the city lights muted in the late hours;  frozen in cyclops-censure, and white as the sheet, the mind far too pensive. Too pristine, like the prissy plants no plasticity or breath  to cloud the air  with living presence.  Unsullied stationery spells itself in shallow steps, a simulation of serenity, screened from the screech of the night-owl and the siren calls of the street.  Too far from these satellite senses, the celestial by the mind constellated symbols, seeking their script.  


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⏰ Last updated: Jan 13, 2024 ⏰

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