A cloud of melancholy set afloat above a life of routine. The same words, sounds, colors seemed to make up the daily, igniting fear in a heart that craved movement. A search for brand new endings shadowed a constant series of familiar beginnings. To and fro, the mind swayed between the uncertainty of satisfaction and the certain stillness.
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Does stillness mean abatement? Could the cloud of melancholy instead be a stroke of luck? A blessing of time? A measure of evolvement? A chance to take a moment?
STAY.
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