Driven by the elevation of being immersed in ecstasy and bliss, I pick it up but, chagrined, I flip pages only to discover a bleak facade. Pages filled with letters and words and numbers yet meaningless. Emptiness. Perfectly aligned structures and layout yet uncertainty. Instability. The cover still sparkles but fate in the novel is long lost. Fragmented is the belief in this vapid attraction -dense with broken promises- that has only meagre fulfilment to offer.
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