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An autumn storm left eager sentences revolving.
Leaving echoes more than words.
A picture more than colours, or different shades of grey.
Behind the paper hides a memory.
It's not the sky that makes the picture blue.
It's not the wind that made me shiver.
Drops on a window, block a sight on a world.
Sometimes it's better not to see.
He decided he loved but he denied, he failed.
