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RE: The image is made of own imagination and thoughts

in #art6 years ago

on the off chance that I could tear up whatever is left of its ragged strings to see that outside world through that window Shattered, yet who contend?! How might I see the daylight from those gigantic production lines that filled the zone, and how might I inhale after it has turned into the separated lungs of those dark exhaust that I never again know are vapor? Or then again pull thunder. I never seemed as though I was watching out of the window to see each one of those tremendous plantations and play from morning to night without weakness. At some point, time will take from me all my youth joy and transform it into stones and iron heaps delivering every one of these poisons, They state it's manufacturing plants! The plants that make just the smoke and the waste that I figure one day it will end up being a mammoth eating the old ones who have no life in them any individual addresses them ... Truly, without disgrace, I mean myself! Furthermore, how the young to pass and the ages are as old as I have been and washed away with my better half, whom I didn't know before the importance of being the most lovely lady on the planet, on the grounds that there was no ladies in his reality other than me, ah if time or approach to go to another life in which he gave even one minute I recollect all The times of that year that we lived respectively before he kicked the bucket before that condemned truck, yes despite everything I recall it ... A corroded blue driven by a tanked young fellow fleeing from a man who nearly slaughtered him with a rifle for taking his corroded truck. Make my seventy-six days past damnation unendurable. What's that sound ?! Do you know? I overlooked that voice as though it were an output of my creative energy, a minute if it's not too much trouble guest, I instructed him to organize the spot that had passed seven decades and I didn't open the way to a guest, with the exception of the kid who has the bicycle now and I see the characteristics of his grandson in it. Life is ravenous. I said with incredible eagerness: "You lean toward, my child." He opened the entryway with his boisterous, dusty passageway, and I didn't realize that that minute would be the last snapshot of my life.

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Hi @mn-najmul

Thanks for your thoughts and your great story

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