They were there and then I wiped the palette clean. Are they ever really mine to begin with? How is it that I can claim ownership on the cosmos of language, on the universal sanctity of communication? [This sentence is mine]. To have and to hold and to carry with me to the state of death. Shall you repeat it, or write it, you will credit me with being the curator of such a structure of sewn together letters that formed into a patch that is a word that was brought together to form a quilt that should be able to comfort each individual with it's indiscriminate warmth.
Right?
Take them.
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