it was a path, a road, a way forwardit was not just any other dayyet, in a sense, it could have beenhad it been the unusual sunshinethe melodies of the birdsor something in the airlures materialshe now knew emptyshe had chosen progressit had become possibleit was a number, a goal, an idealit was not just any other whimyet, in a sense, how could it be otherwise ?had it been the many disappointmentsthe memories of defeator having crossed a thresholdliars promiseshe had seen throughhe had chosen lo
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