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November
November was always cold: so were the voids.
The winter's wind as it comes leaving old bruises familiarly stained.
Stained by the infinite loops of the days went by and the days to come.
Gazing at the endless darkness of the night.
Consciously the rusted...
The winter's wind as it comes leaving old bruises familiarly stained.
Stained by the infinite loops of the days went by and the days to come.
Gazing at the endless darkness of the night.
Consciously the rusted...
