in the echoes. The very real in the surreal. The conscious of the way the scars sear in the jumbled of thoughts to words. I do not quite get there...
The organised chaos in all the little quandaries big, to find the pattern of a structure. The silent screaming within seething through grit teeth in flashbacks, irritants at creativity fluctuations... the hiccups and the eureka all mixed in the dilemmas and decisive seconds.
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