the book i was going to post from CANT BE FOUND.
It’s not about the goal, but how you get there, the process of becoming, emerging, changing.
the book i was going to post from CANT BE FOUND.
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I was wrong.
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Everytime someone died. color and breath, the fast unfurl of carbon away from death plants that rise and grow, strange citybomb beneath…
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Bloomed in the fall, I loved you in the winter. When summer came the world was dead and cold.
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