sjsprWriting
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drops of bliss
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Memory is a lot like the rain.
Rain is water that falls from the sky
Water
that
falls.
Water that falls,
falls
falls.
But oceans are made of water. And so are rivers, and lakes.
When did something so beautiful become something so simple?
Memories are dropplets that fall from your past, and stain your present with their delicate beauty and bliss.
When did some event shape who you are now?
When did something so simple become something so beautiful?
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