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In my world, the letter will be a long forgotten thing; a gratuitous gesture.
People will talk, chat, tweet, text each other In bits of love, in bits of soul, in bits of different textures, In the beats of time voided of time. Apothecaries of delight will gratify Anyone willing to donate instant-grams of blood to the mighty ocean Of memory loss. You, and I, and them: Designers of life and lives full of possibilities Never fulfilled, never fully felt. Letters will stand in a dusty corner Of light, in the Scriptures, in the shelves of forgotten people, In the libraries of oblivion. They will mean nothing else but Hanging in, hanging the corpse of remembrance on the oaks Of barren lands, all the way into the horizon; Hangout people!, hang out of yourselves: Break the letter in letters, break this letter in letters, Break the life sentence in words, Break the silence in love.
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