Sometimes.
When we retort, we construct the world in our response. The world is what I created it to be.
Most times.
The world of my creation is just mine. It ceases to have a foundation. It floats on a column of air. Ready to be tumble dried amid this pandemic.
End of times.
The world will revert to mean. It will be what it is. One object at a time, it will reclaim itself. I will set it free from my story. And on that day, you shall notice that the wind has stopped blowing.
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