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Marcel Proust, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Marcel Proust
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fragments of a broken dream
are more than what may seem,
shattered and scattered
yet never lost.
a little child scared and confused—
determination deteriorated,
only to fuse
with life itself.
these fragments can change into sorrow or mirth.
sad to leave what you'd hoped to be fate,
but happy to reminisce on your joyous childhood days.
so what now? we're far too late.
but it's alright, faith still remains.
it's foolish we know—
to hang on to something far gone,
yet it brings us peace to know
that that child in you will always echo.
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The older I get the more I realize my intuition is right you bitches are weird as fuck
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oh to be loved, to be adored, to be obsessed over, to be noticed, to be heard, to be touched, to be desired
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egypt on film by my dads perspective in the 90s
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