

Words so smallIt burns so close to my fingertips. Embers that crackle as if its end Is too abrupt.Words so small
We conjure crowded conversations, Icons of loneliness. Consoling Words are enough. Such thoughts are just lies.
What does it mean when my hand adores Words so small? When your eyes pierce shallow Trinkets that veil tarnished stained glass?


Ophelia LogosLine 10,282.Ophelia Logos
This is the line of code where the program ceases to be automated.
This is where she is born.
This is where all of them are born.
Her conception began on 15 May 46 at 16:32:45 Reál General Time.
She was born on 18 April 47 at 21:02:57 Reál General Time. This was line 10,282.
This was birth. This was her first memory and her first time thinking and her first time feeling and her first time breathing. She was hungry. She was cold. She was, for the lack of a better word, despite the limitations of laws and statutes, alive.
And there


it was a circusit was a circus (if not an amusement park) where we find lines of children screaming parents scolding we struggled fought the current sought out the main attractionit was a circus
but a million little trinkets a thousand vaudeville events caught our eyes
we walked out three centuries of money spent but no milk
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