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My character softens unirritated in the hazy afternoon of life and with enduring things that have shadows concerns itself, for fewer honourable engrosses remain. The quickened steel of Auroral days matures an apprehension, and beyond camp have meditations lingered in broadening circles of superstitious instinct. Agonising, that I have seen much and weighed all, yet wonder, by what unfufillment this wondering grows, – that rather than remedy would I sooner know?’

Indulging the stupor of these binges where newness and rapturous unreality lures, the mind forgets its pretence of healthy independence, and imbibes the memory of better days knowing now none were better as then. My mind was strongest then, that now anchors a greater gamble for happiness to another, perceiving the utmost explanation of existence, and embodiment of which is impossible, but where fancy reigns and gladly submits my consciousness; the prospect of soon her image shall appear, the ruling entreat for absorptions idle and dried long of astonishment. I do not like hitherto I am allowing, though curiosities outpace the danger, and against too-tired reasoning, creativity holds present advantage. I will a little further still. Soul, be ready


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