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The rain stopped suddenly, leaving the air damp and the sidewalks steaming, but no rainbow showed up. Just gray sky trying to look brighter without much effort.
A pen running out of ink mid-sentence reminded me of impermanence. Tools age. Bodies tire. Ideas fade if not expressed. Accepting this does not mean despair; it means urgency with tenderness. Every chance to write, speak, or create is temporary. Use it before it vanishes.