
So fragile, the wind may snap it.
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Apple leaf with signs of infestation and decay.
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Ripe and ready for battle.
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I remember more than this existence allows for.
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It’s never over, it never really began.
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Self-repair is the only way forward.
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We crave resurrection to make sense of our demise.
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No flight required. We have our own methods.
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There’s something hidden in the leaves. There’s something living in the leaves.
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We carry out the necessary rituals but we can never meet. Leaves and magic circles.
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