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Follow The Wandering Introvert on

Follow The Wandering Introvert on

No one really talks about

the morning moon.

Its crescent heavy with the

weight of dawn,

ready to toss aside the

expectations of nighttime work:

the guiding-home of weary travelers,

the pedestrian awe for the faithless.

No reason to dwell on

the small aches and pains

of humanity, the petty and

the wicked and the insignificant.

The world settles and

the moon watches, silently

taking in the secrets and the

untruths and the words that cannot be

said under the harsh and wild sun.

We awaken, and we weep,

always for ourselves.

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