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Description
When dreams tread lightly through our waking hours we are mindful of many wondrous things; sadly, like so much heavenly flotsam, they escape those whose fly-by-night visions often find them adrift, drowning in their own sleep. As for me, your lovable little fluff-ball interlocutor, I've circumnavigated this mortal Coyle, my piddling life this leaky old boat, filled with what dreams may come, carried on the wings of such stuff as they are made on, yet I fear not the future, nor shall I shed one tear for the past, and because of this I am certain that if everything left in our wake were tied to all that looms before us, it would languish in comparison to that which lies locked within us. -from the journal of Marco Dodo
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