Marysia Pajestka

Oh , I will pass away one day. I will pass and there will be less of me. Someone will pack my things into a sack, someone will stop for a moment and sigh somehow deeper than, for example, in the morning.  

Well before I'm just a faded memory  I will enclose in Word the volatility of thoughts.

Ironically, Word will outlive you and me. Cool.

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