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But why mourn the woes of winter, when the birds lay stark and stiff so stern was Ida's snow? Or summers scorch, on a lazy noon, when the sea fell level and asleep under a windless sky? Why mourn old woes? Their pain has passed.

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sometimes when I think about how great it would be to die, I think about how I will never get to see Haley’s Comet.

July 28, 2061.

:)))))