The Simple Memory of Stars

The feelings of rain are obvious. Whetted to the wetness in the wetlands, they build with their stormy sweat on serious solitudinal sojourns. Joyous and joined - by a collective pool of knowledge - love and lost antiquated companions with similar features - and a beautiful, endless family they can call ocean.

The senses of the wind are infinite. Touching with endless whispered hands, only a rumour to the tangibly tangible tangerines. Who hang from their tree - with the innocence of ages - and taste so sweet and refreshing when juiced by the thirsty juicer with the sharp incisors.

The movements of ice are the sculptor, carving carbon craters to the core. Imitating the motions of those who carved out a place for you. In their societies of wood, marble and granite. Their brotherhood of bone - shaped in your likeness - in honour of nothing more than the comets and meteors who shower with the two-in-one convenience of the simple memory of stars.

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