petals pass gently in the wind preying on silent whispers and jesuit cries. books stacked upon stacks of books tumble into the abyss of "oh, i'll read that later" and the canyon of "can't make the time". where are those books now?
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| stacks petals pass gently in the wind preying on silent whispers and jesuit cries. books stacked upon stacks of books tumble into the abyss of "oh, i'll read that later" and the canyon of "can't make the time". where are those books now? |
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