Biobot Truth
What seems so startling--what sometimes startles her--is how she gets along so well, as if lightening itself continually lightens the load between her positive urgency and theNetwork with its changes-from-above, look of frozen face.
She takes it all in stride in her memory. She feels shiny and new with the more dark established, stable architecture. She is full of discovery, focus infused, as if going to battle for the very first time with mere reconstructions of digital fragments, feeling fresh out of the box, out to conquer that next uncomfortable, the next place to overcome.
She will merge and, emerge in a special little light.
She will merge and, emerge in a special little light.
Yes. She must require respect as a public functional, even so, the legend in her requires a proud, behind-closed-doors basket case camp for needed cramps with which to work out of, if only for old times sake, old habit.
The amount that can fill her heart is enormous, so much so it spends the majority of its time alone, as recluse outside beer play--much the same as a public social filterer would, a flitterer with lightness of heart, lightness in every aspect that pleases, lightness of indifference to hoards of masses (yes, even to the fan who's gone nuts, out there always needing something new to be tacked on).
Is she the only wise one, the one to know?
It's true. Nobody can stop a funeral, not even fate, in the way of grave negatives or flames of true. She's extreme, almost able to listen to her heart speak its head, but she is also the one who knows the truth of writer, the one with a train whistle always blowing in the distance, the one that knows seasonal love is never seasoned.
Yes, she knows.
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