In time, when all is woven, a critique from a forgotten force: a darkness eating a path through the edges of our form. Rivers and valleys, ripples where the oceans meet the floor. Our construction existed above a boundless expanse. It was there: the reason for our existence, conversing with our buried roots. The womb of our potential.
Memories: Held still in time. Amassed and assessed from all possible angles. A way inside.
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