Profound

Forget the things that have come to pass. Forget what we know, forget what we remember. For everything else, we are in silence. We are the definitive collection of what we've attained. We are whispers of vanity and materialisation. We see not with our hearts. We look over ourselves to find what has not been restored. To find ourselves we discard judgement and ire like children do. Because ultimately, we are but illusions to ourselves.

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