01 Catalogue
Writing Collection

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Sanity sits together with disillusion, no talking. I have no words. They seem caught. 
On wind, maybe, or something close to that.   
Something that climbs you down off of this feeling. Between us. 
Back to disillusion.
On split paths on this exact feeling, this exact knowing. 
A horrible excitement.
Pain of trying to know where the longing comes from.  
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