reality and our thoughts don't end in punctuation marks, they stream in an uninterrupted flow of consciousness seamless and we are temporary plot points, distractions from the truth of nothingness and loneliness, main characters in a comedic romantic tragedy always ending the same in chapters of a tome written in a glossolalic language gibberish golden ink illuminated letters undecipherable read by no god recorded by no one, the ink becomes invisible as soon as it is written
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