'The aura of time the mound gave off seemed to mock any comprehension of its change and process -- how it had grown from baskets of shoveled soil to the high center of Caddoan affairs to a hilly patch of blackberries. My rambling metaphysics was getting caught in the trap of reducing experience to coherence and meaning, letting the perplexity of
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Ah.. we were dying to be together, and we did it. Now we're apart again, only dying to be together. It's a cycle.. our love will never end.
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you do that a lot.
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