some things are meant to be

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Of these cut-throat busted sunsets, these cold and damp white mornings, I have grown weary. If through my cracked and dusted dime-store lips I spoke these words out loud, would no one hear me?

Nature’s first green is gold,
Its hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

-Robert Frost

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