This thing, it's something, a lift; a temporary set of invincible wings with which can soar miles in a second and handle the skies of my mind, but they can be shredded with the slightest change in direction of the wind. Something so strong and magnificent, yet so dreadfully delicate. A newborn hope born into the palms of my hands which I can watch grow and change, yet how am I to know I'm breeding my own destruction...?
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