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Like the act of clearing moisture from what’s normally transparent but with enough effort it becomes a barrier to the spies of outside eyes

Imaginary things, I feel I think bring solidity in a strange fluid way, escarpments ranging from anything we relay

if the truth was an individual is it? Or maybe it’s inevitable when you imagine where the differences end

is all this just beautifying what is minor or superficial?

I like to feel or think or both it’s not just one