It is an art to make a picture and never paint it to conceive of a novel without scribbling a word and imagine a world in the now that is here while letting you rest pursuing it not Often I fail when demanding the future become what I think it must ought concede and yet this is false of course it won't budge the mind may run out whilst brain don't hold grudge Constantly calling going to voice mailing no postage demurring the choice and yet the adventures concocted inside demand the attention of my soul's lighted ride These exertions with no reality function are beautiful snow covering junctions delight it yet lives while possibilities die unwalked road forgives while right here I lie
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This is my favorite one
Thanks mm 🙂