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Metaprocrastinationthe wind picks itself up in tell-tale display of weather patterns we feel to be routineMetaprocrastination
stormheads arrive en masse gently demanding the attention of all with their grey murmurs
I set loosened petals upon streams unseen and eddies more delicate than my comfort
a drop of water rolls across my palm and I ask myself "is this beauty or boredom?"
by ~ydd
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