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when the dust blows away what will they say about the flesh and bones that breathed and walked and wondered about beauty and love and all those inconsequential matters that were so very, very important at the time and then like the morning mist were gone along with the thoughts and the hopes and the seconds that made up the moments that were all that became the flesh and the bones and the heart that would beat one day after the next until the never replaced the now until the begining was just the end.