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The flower-suns

Modifié le : 2019/07/13

The leaves are start­ing to fall here. We nev­er tire of announc­ing, every year, the begin­ning of autumn. At this stage, the decline may seem philo­soph­i­cal. The air seems to be at the peak of its breath, already imbued with soft, dense juices, like the one in these rooms where the dying fall asleep.

It may rain this morn­ing, the sun also dis­ap­pears, for the dura­tion of a storm. There is only tran­quil­i­ty in appear­ance ; the sum of real­i­ties, as we can sense, rarely cross the bar­ri­er of zero.

Nev­er mind, there will always be the sun of child­hood to make us under­stand that life is will­ing to do with­out equations.

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