Neither here, nor there, in the silence I hear, skipping stones on a lake. Ripples form, then disappear, hazy fog rolls in, covering the hills. I am persuaded, the echoes far away, longing to be heard again.

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From the mouths of despair and the graves of the blind, the great ones who never were all that good to begin with, this is where we land when our minds no longer want to operate, when we feel we don’t exist anymore to anyone, not even ourselves. From the depths of everyone waiting, comes

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