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Writing Poems at the End of the World

We stand at the edge of the world each day. After the world ends, a new day and world begin. The days lost their connections long ago—there is no tomorrow or yesterday, only fragmented todays. What lies at the end of the path through these fragments?

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We stand at the edge of the world each day. After the world ends, a new day and world begin. The days lost their connections long ago—there is no tomorrow or yesterday, only fragmented todays. What lies at the end of the path through these fragments?

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