A Memory Comments

Qube floated down that silent stream riding on the green leaf. Dahlia was blossoming and had the openness of the air, and her graceful warmth was a symbol of what it meant to be female.

But no one knew where the Mole was digging it’s deeper and deeper hole. No one cared to find out what the mole knew, or didn’t know. The mole carried about it’s daily dig, in pursuit of nursing morsels of pleasure.
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