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what do you know when all you know all your life is all yourself that lives for the hand that revolves I am a figment of your imagination an extension of the line down the horizon a ghost from the monument of sepia memories and muted voices the empty air that floats beside you sit I know when you look into the mirror with an apple to keep the future away as you walk the streets your footsteps falling onto the carpet of the pavement as I follow their shadows home

Wong Zijia