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The blog creeps up and throws pebbles on the window of a fair and beautiful poem. The blog is impetuous and brash. Confident and brazen. The poem patient, tender and romantic.

The blog does its utmost to standing in shadows when the lights come on and the play emerges with fury onto the porch. The novel stands behind, verbally prodding the play into action.

Everyone stops to take a breath. The deep inhalation of the idea. The gentle exhale of the message.

Time ticks by at a different rate for everyone. Hearts beat. Chapters unfold and pages turn in their grave. Scenes and seasons change. They all feel and argue the right of passage.

The blog wonders how the story will end. He might be the new kid on the block, but he figures he’s won the poem’s heart and the reader’s vote. The jury is out for the poem. The novel has gone back to bed. The play may have closed the front door, but still paces the passageway. How will the story end?

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