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across the world, on an island, over an ocean, he's still in fantasies of a neurotic mind trodding the cobblestone streets, he's unaware, he's aware of only his own dreams, the ones that sneak in through the night and play footsie with his daydreams, and after a while- after a while? he's after something he thinks he wants. and time goes by. and dreams float by, until suddenly: both their souls are saturated in want, and they feel pity, each of them, for all their lonely nights spent gathering in the commune of their own minds. but it's all a dead metaphor. setting the table for a crystalline disaster and maybe one day the ocean will be the only one with a story to tell.
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