every life is flowing like an upturned bucket of water, cutting swathes of moisture across the parched soil; moving in all direction till life extinguished, causes that moisture to evaporate leaving no trace at all, untill another drop follows. only to move ahead a little and loose itself into oblivion.
this march continues mindless, repeating, seeking to cover the infinite. a task with no goal. no end but the task itself.
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