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"And so it fell;

the photograph taken

light-years ago, and was folded

and hidden between the pages

of Great Expectations, fell from

the book when it was re-opened.

The poet's eyes glistened, sparkled,

in a peculiar way-a sullen mix of

oddity and nostalgia. What he thought was

a memory buried in oblivion's graveyard,

came back, exhumed, and it was

haunting him beyond any poet's metaphors

could ever describe.

It struck him, like a rust-eaten

knife, twisted twelve times while

it was impaled in his chest. The vivid

crimson blood rushed down his then pale-painted

skin.

The poet tried his best to continue

reading the half-finished book and

forget his half-finished love affair

Yet inevitably, the poet did fall too."

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