Everything grows dusty. But especially the mind. As it fades, everything fades. It does not touch everything the way it did, with its layers upon layers of dust, which have gone too thick. There is now no sharpness in focus. Everything is muffled, unclear. With such blunt words, I end this call. This call to see things as clearly as they are. Or as they never were. Only fragments, bearing imperfect edges, of my imagination - the len through which I see the world.
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