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Awakening on a spring-like morning, dream hangovers allow short mystery. When I went to bed last then, it was late, the whole night designing a tomorrow. Walking through a maze, a similar thing, a peace measured, my solo destiny. That same assignment, wishing, a clean slate. Every night behind our eyes we borrow into our…
About the Archivist
This is a site based on my writing with a focus on cathartic moments and points in my life that I hope might resonate with readers.
What Crosses My Mind 