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She doesn’t look at the sky, the sky looks through her. Blue gathers where thoughts once were, a watercolor tide learning the shape of a head, the shape of a name. Gold moves like quiet butterflies, not to measure love, only to keep it from falling out of the world. If time must pass, let it pass softly, like mist through embroidered light.
A watercolor painting of a dreamy woman's profile, with her eyes closed, against a light yellow sky with light blue.