the lost man chronicles
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by the light of dawn, by the light of dusk

i love to read by the light of dawn, by the light of dusk.

thereís something inexplicably serene about the soft golden light touching upon the stone-hued pages of a new paperback. very few other pastimes have ever calmed me as well.

writing is perhaps its only equal. but even then, penning thoughts to paper actually animates me more than anything. both activities are soul-soothing though, only one lets it all out, and the other smoothes out all thatís within. itís as if teetering-on-twilight reading is the halcyon, and scribing furiously is my phoenix.

together they form the ying and the yang of who i am. or maybe, rather more accurately, of who i am becoming. constantly renewing and anewing, questioning and answering, piquing and subduing to ponder and wander about the feral plains of thought.

and ensembles, they illuminate all that i must do.

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