A cyclamen blooming eternal

Will this befall on the morrow or the rising of the ensuing week, the coming month and the successive year to come, one not knows on how the fairies intertwine the cliffs and dunes on the foremost abandoned soul of the innocent proclaimed cyclamen that blossoms upon infinite times of timeless sagas that have roamed the earth unleashing traumas that seek the holy grail that beholds the force, as of many in search of her dynamic strength, somehow a force, a force from above, a powerful force called the power of love.



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