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The pinks and purples of the chilly winter morning sky are sometimes all that makes the daily morning trudge to the bus stop, where the driver so often intentionally drives off without me, bearable.
Fragile silence, icy sidewalks, and yes, even stupid low-hanging branches that seem to take such pleasure in aiming their pointed fingers at my half-awake face, I will miss you all dearly when we stop crossing paths.
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