“Did everyone, who came close, wash away? From your arms, from the glade, did they wash away? Are you sleeping beneath the trees, so alone? Are you trembling beneath the warmest quilts, in the deepest cold? For this, I have come to hold you. For this, I have come to raise you. For all this, I would break myself a thousand more times, against your shore, to tell you that nothing more shall depart, when I am with you.”

– Modern Romanticism

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