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This wind, how gentle, how lovely that the rose bush has given its petals to the breeze so flippantly, if only love were that effortless, toss it up and watch it fly, an iron kite ignorant of its ruinous weight. So this wind – searching through my shirt for the right ruffles, a current of whimsical calligraphy – has decided to tussle my hair in the right places, earth’s natural bath, so ravishing.

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