Forcibly neat pen strokes paint the page. His handwriting is too formal, in the exactness of the style he had been taught. He takes a long time to write the brief poem, mistakes discarded until he has every letter formed to his satisfaction. The peach, orange and pink blush of dawn sprawls upon the page as the black ink dries.
Fitting.
"Smile in the sunrise
Dance with our firelit colors
Burning like secrets"
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Doom
