Every pondering is subject to a darkness, aware of the twists and turns of the corners. If the sound of the distracting voice moulds itself into the essence of ignorance, the image of aloofness pushes itself onto many a subject. Far from interpretation, the perpetual last hour indulges in the sound of displeasure, moulded like learned adaptation. That step into the sidelines feels the call of interpretation, whose ear is closed to all insignificance.
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