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Flowers on the Wind
How grave it is after all, to see then that which you sought is only illusion, a flickering shadow on the wall, a mirage of our own making, as fleeting as the scent of flowers on the wind.
How grave it is after all, to see then that which you sought is only illusion, a flickering shadow on the wall, a mirage of our own making, as fleeting as the scent of flowers on the wind.