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Life is too short for boring stories

Mist-bedded, delicately flattered, the rugged, steep stone walls rise to the sky, mist-bedded, taking away the heaviness of the night. The mist flows around the stones, me, whispering, urging: „Go ahead, stay with me, go the way, I suppose you.“ The wind has gone to rest: „Do not you want to finally find peace?“, He …

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