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Perpetual Grace

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In the middle of the field there’s a patch of thick woods. In the middle of the patch there’s a clearing in the shape of a perfect square. In the middle of that clearing is a warp of black and white. A graveyard, nearly ancient, intact and untouched; detached from the world. It’s not on a map, nor is it constrained by time. Here, there is no time. Only now. And now goes on forever. Around it, the rest of the world suffers the unfortunate fate of death, loneliness, sadness, and mourning. In here, the trees have leaves year round. The dead inside lay resting in peace. Nothing grows, nothing dies, nothing fights, nothing survives. It exists in that beautiful black and white sort of way; subsisting under stars of the other world; frozen under a ceiling that doesn’t belong to it’s floor. This place will forever stand still in an ocean of waves that refuse to kiss the shore, in this mangled once-upon-a-time of a place, where dreams are never crushed, but wishes don’t come true.




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