All time consumes itself in the passing, heedless of others. The taste of transience imagines itself in the symmetry of adaptation to everything that passes. The forgotten comes to light in the glorious moment of loss, touched too late by the thinking mind. That which has been accomplished, inferior to the unkindness of being, leads to the eternal forgiveness of all that has been taken and shared. Roughness pervades the hour of the heart, embedded in sadness beneath the joy of the mantle.
The lack of beauty is the realisation of wealth in the moment.
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