It isn’t always what is bent that catches the eye. And it isn’t always broken. And life will spring from the sea like hope which never really deserted me. And would this be a just birthed bud that lasts for a few days or minutes, or would it be love fully bloomed that persists until the end of time? Right now, in this cut of time, Dedekind-like, we cannot guess the outcome. But we can live this moment fully, this one here, and not reckon with the other infinitely close, infinitely thin line that divides us.

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