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The World Moves on

The World moves on. It does so very quickly. I guess it should be that way. But one hopes that it lingers a bit on a few little things. Just a bit. Longer than a blink. Shorter than a wee sigh. What are these little things one may ask? 
Not just the sun and the moon and the stars and the flowers underneath. 
But also the glint in a brat's eye. 
The withering sadness of a lighthouse, a beacon of hope, really, 
The desolation of a white sheet of paper when words fail you 
The deafening silence when a heart goes crack in two.
The melancholy of an eternal optimist.
The World moves on quickly, 
Perhaps for the best.

 

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