One bit, one seed, one tiny little ray of sunshine that holds, that contains, that pours and finally release's memories, dreams, reflections that are largely unsaid, and mostly hidden within yet, that is fine.
it is the realization of A blossoming perception of inconsequenctial jubilation
His is an old story, as old as the blessed forest he calls home. As his youth were in days when humans began to give names to the world around them
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... And in my life, did i see those great mountains that obscured the sky in their majesty. Did i ride upon great horse's and in my youth felt the kick of a rifle against my shoulder
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I got your letter the day after i wrote on this, i got it and i cried for awhile. And now i can't even write you back, as my own mother threw it away
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We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be never so vile. This day shall gentle his condition
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