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The cacaphony of the tape tearing. A moment ago it was there, the next it wasn't. I floated away. Craving one last moment. One last memory.
Hello, I don’t think we’ve met yetI’m Rose!I was but a bud yesterdayWhen you came to weedThe garden plotwhere I was once a seedBut I’m grown now!And I can see you,
"Drive west," they tell me And so I leave Making my way through hills covered with windmills Deserted deserts And Half-forgotten forests