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It was writing and they took him away, in the middle of a sentence, a sentence that spoke of love and desire, a sentence of hope, i don’t remember exactly, but  it was something along these words:

For you have forsaken me, my eyes, my sense of beauty, all is lost in you.

But he stayed calm inside, lonely, but self sufficient, as he always was, not giving up, even in the face of this rapture, for he knew keeping one inner self intact it was the only way to survive the horror, he ignited his soul in a controlled fashion, like a start shinning inside him in this moment of darkness, he wrote this on a paper in his back, we found the paper in the pathway to his doom.

The back of paper read: it was all my life ever conceived as true as an elevation of myself by mere belief, but for this to fully happen, to flow from my hands, I had to lend myself to the process, I had to bleed and I took it too far this time, I am really dying, so i am sacrificing this part of me because this is the only way i could ever free myself from the curse of these words only if and only if the author is removed.

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