Dawn

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It was 4 am. I could hear soft breaths of innocent people, people sleeping in the dark. they had been sleeping for years and forests grew tired of waiting so, scribblers burned papers and lit their blood to wake the sun, to wake sleepy Gods as devil danced in valleys of humans’ hearts and whispered spells to keep them chained to the la-la land. It is a tale of overthinkers and writers, of observers and doers, of dreamers and deluded, of me and you.

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