The old poet prophesied how time heals all wounds. Reckoned we foolishly disregard the hidden implications behind the saying, "While the scars remain".
The shifting shadow play made me think about the supposition of our perplexing circumstances. Loved but never loving, Loving but never loved. Our affiliation of love? Never destined to self.
Absurd I say, not only to that predicament. This is the life in an insane asylum of human relations. Knowing yet falling.
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