better luck next year! was a wish; not even December, a passerby remarked stepping into strangers’ conversation. it’s empty and no hope till spring, one was kind to explain. three people on the dim orange road, one departed; the stranger broke silence: you need help you don’t want to help say something real it’s not what you have not me, new acquaintance … i’m nauseating; i can cry. i’m burning, the smoke trail’s intriguing but isn’t evident enough of burning, imperceptible. you cold you shiver on your strolls by the murky pond here’s my fire, get warm but got another talk: dark smoke, I’m afraid I can chase you if you run you can but won’t …
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