What it takes to be a window what it takes to be a window, a speck of frosted glass, somewhere titled between interwoven belts of misty moments crusted with the crumbs of what was enduring the silkiness of what is what it takes to be a window, a speck of frosted glass, somewhere which bleeds bits of crimson clouds, with the evening sketched, upon the breast of fog-cloaked glass what it takes to be a window a speck of frosted glass, somewhere laced with the saffron of yesterday’s dawn and upon fragile shoulders, there rests a string of Northern Stars what it takes to be a window, to change color with the sky, to bear the wounds, chiseled by stars and to slowly bleed twilight what it takes to be a window, to balance the quiver of uncertain shadows, which bear bracelets of raindrops upon slender wrists raindrops of a rain not yet here
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