It was the time when Myrtin’s thoughts flew away in distances
beyond world worries. His thirst for cognizance was sustained by inner, as
usual. Utterance of the outer was like a symphony in his ears and the modal suppression
of needs hit him unsurprisingly.
Thoughts of inner perception were there, waiting to be acknowledged.
Myrtin was an
immortal of his kind, shame to be surprisingly trapped into mortality.
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