Two floors up,
hidden behind the cobwebs and ancient trunks and cluttered messes, hangs the memories of love long forgotten. Years, eaten by moths, Fabric, tainted by time, Legends filtered through years and sifted through generations of rolls, survives a story of hope no one wants to love anymore. It's tentative history can be found with nervous hands and shaky knees, lurking in the shadows, filtering through the dust, hoping for a hand to pull back into reality.
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January 2022
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