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From an ink-penned thought on what unfortunately became a soggy, whipped cream and cinnamon-scented accident:

"...And for a moment, something warm stirrs inside your chest, like the soft, hushed rustle of a spring breeze through dead leaves, and you feel hope welling up in your soul like sunshine, seeping through every crack in your shattered heart, whispering promises that one day, winter will finally come to an end, and it might start to beat again."


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