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The Collide Book

 Read it, pain is a momentary agreement of feeling within time as a marvel. Intersecting lines meet without volition, smack that second. Whitehead wrote something in a clearing, illustrating something and a clearing. We went along, together, brillianting and set. Love wholly covers while owing nothing. Hearing a set tune, a folk astonishment, a meeting place, something written in a reach. The time now is just the time now, here so we can at this morning now, once more.


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