Stars are pin pricks in the fabric of time and the front porch is a gateway drug to the splendor of a universe writ larger on the dark tapestry of the sky. Some burn red like cigarette ash — carbon inhaled then blown into the cosmos maybe to land eventually on celestial plains. And night comes on hard yawns reflecting the fatigue of a day spent alone. Eyelids droop as wine glasses empty and Mars winks back. NICK FLOOK, TRAIN OF THOUGHT - @FLOOKO THE RED PLANET BY MATT HAVER
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