The penultimate night in Waverley House with a room that resounds and echos, not with the melodies of the Jazz festival outside, but with every keystroke.
There is no peace and joy like knowing you are in the right coordinates of eternity. There is nothing quite as dreadful as knowing you are out of step with the dance of flames and ashes.
The womb will never hold you forever, but each in its time must come out alive or stillborn. When the time comes, one needs to rise to paths defined.
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