Letters upon letters, the ink runs deep into parchment firm.
Giving proof, granting existence to thoughts otherwise forgotten.
Hope is bestowed with a few quick strokes;
The guilded pen glides with Mercury’s ease.
Lost are days gone with no record,
Thought, etched, or speech,
So I hold this one close with wrists gentle and deliberate.
Hollowed is
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How are you?
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Loved picture, thanks.
Anyway, I'm on Aim for the next 15-20 minutes. Come online
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I'm okay. I'm just trying to get a job in Phoenix so we don't end up living in a storage space with all our stuff, lol!
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