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  • Writer's pictureCurious Observer


What does it mean to be normal? What is the price of respect? What weight does love hold? Why are words easy to trust, yet hard to accept?
Between the sky and the earth, there isn't a distinction. How much of me is a person? How much of me is an object?
In the time when I am alone with myself, There isn't any solace. It is a cross I have to bear, I am my thoughts' subject.

— Curious Observer

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