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With the missing fragments, she paints the white sky. The brush made out of countless soul has fallen down, below her knees on the milky road, above the cloud born through the vitrified sand. She is lost in her pointless thoughts, wondering why the birds are still missing. No energy to lift the arms, her numb fingers are flickering.
Blue engulfed her serenity, someone who was her favourite .
She paints the clouds and the birds but forgets the sky, a flush of hatred.
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