It took a longest time to see exactly what I did to me. There was a breadth of greatest hurt where seekers sorrow led to dirt. The plants and grass had done their work and sold a sale of ingrown Earth. Daphne had become a tree and that was how she was set free. Confusion bore from where it led—those happenings within her head. Projection wrought from all she stored, those she missed and had adored. She’d make them up and feel them real, whether in hate or thoughtful zeal. She felt it forward—felt it back—then made it up within the cracks. The girl had straight become her heart and done it crying into art. To lose the mind of seeking ways would have the girl ready to play. She’d fill the space with others words—but not from minds—they was from hers. She felt them real then made it up—those words would buy the girl her luck.
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