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Father

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There was a man who sat in his study at a desk, all day and all night.. well what we perceive as day and night. Where this man sat was a wrinkle in time, place where time cannot be measured or defined. And in his abstract study, this simple man drew plans, blueprints of sorts. The man worked constantly and with such diligence. He drafted thoughts, created emotion, welded personality and he drew life. His weathered hands were stained with ink and scarred with cuts. His eyes were weary and face drained. The man was tired, the man was old. And although time could not be tamed within the room where he sat, the man still aged. It was inevitable that the man could not continue to draw his plans forever. But he continued to work. His hand moved carefully, crafting the finests plans. Making sure he covered every detail, and drew every line. No blueprint was perfect, but no two were the same, each one was unique. Every one had its own personality you could say.. and each one he loved equally.



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