These words, as meaningless to send through the vacuum of cyberspace as the near-void of atmosphere where my others find no purchase, are thoughts given shape, but possessing no purpose
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Cold drops falling numbly on the backs of shaking hands. Gifted down from the high, heavy Gray The damp lends its presence to Shivering skin beneath drenched shirt, Goose-pimpled flesh along leg and thigh, Socks sopping wet with each squish.
I submit to this as payment for the presence In the ever present embrace of the chilling touch of
It's raining again and no matter how much the rest of the world may chip away at my awesome Zen-like sense of calm, the rain will always be there to to help me find my center
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