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The Meaning of Loss

I used to wonder where the clouds go.

I didn’t notice for years that I had stopped asking that question. Slowly, my inquiry drifted over the horizon. I looked away for a moment; when I looked back, it was gone.

There were long, legato notes, beautiful and subtly powerful. I heard them right before the sun went down, at that time of the day when the right kind of eyes can see so much beauty in the world. On those nights, I knew I would have the kind of dreams that make you want to sleep forever: the kind of dreams that you can’t remember in the morning, beyond a nebulous, satisfying bliss.

Now, all of my dreams just wake me up.

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