My dreams of neverending spring and summer hath been vanquished. All was my own undoing.
If love is truly blind, then so be it. Bliss of ignorance is what allows man to sleep at night, allows him to appreciate the size of their insignificance in this universe, only to know that they are at least a world to someone else.
Now, with the everstretching space, there is nothing but time and the realisation of their own insignificance.
Winter has come. How long will it be this time?
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