I could feel the burning contrast of continuance, the delicate flock-like dance of a hundred thousand moments distilled into a single impression that shifted with the passage of time and glowed with the curves and subtle vestiges of its previous shapes.
Each year we drive to my grandma's house for Christmas, through a pastel valley where we meet the swans.
Each year we drive to my grandma's house for Christmas, through a pastel valley where we meet the swans.
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