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remember so little. It's almost like a dream. When you feel it, it seems so clear, but the moment you try to grasp it, it's further than it ever was. I remember that I was trying to create something, something very beautiful. I think was sculpting the very face of the world, and all I wanted? Perfection. I worked so hard, and so did others like me. Yet, even after we insisted, and insisted that perfection wasn't reached, the ones aside from us? They said our time was over. They said their time had begun, and we needed to step aside.
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