how many times have i stood underneath the blooming moonbeams and exploding stars, walked down the long sinuous meadows, listened to the crawling wind, sealed broken hearts with flour and history, opened my window at the crackling dusk, watched a few forgotten images emerge from the splitting sky, invited the timid rain to run across the field, clutched the edge of darkness in my palms, clung obsessively to lost nouns, only to be reminded that yesterday was my birthday.
and, what of it?
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