I climb the steps of the Scot monument every morning. It all becomes clear. Wish I could make you see this brightness. Don’t worry, all is well. All is so perfectly, damnedly well.
I understand now the boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive they exist. In moments like these, I can feel your heartbeat as I feel my own and I know that the separation is an illusion. My life extends far beyond the limitations of need.
Yours, R.F.
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