Gently, the winds of memory caress my mind. What seemed ordinary is now somehow twisted, as if something changed in my backward journey, and now the present has been altered. What’s the use of reason if there is no doubt? I fly away on warm summer breezes, staring at the microcosm below. I softly tug at heart strings to lower my distance to the Earth. Ever so present is the sheer discomfort of flight.
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