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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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It had something special, something quite special, some occurrences. For hours now she was sitting there, musing. The fire flickered in the fireplace. There was nothing to say, actually, and yet, in how many varieties, in how many nuances the flames lurched, how they unified and separated again, how they were pleasingly flattered and dispersed. …

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