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There’s something peculiar about packing the fallen leaves
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My bedside table is running out of space for books
Prayers whisper behind a scarf
Imagine if money disappeared and all we had to trade was truth as currency.
How dire is it
Swam through a lot of jam.
Last weekend I was having a brilliant conversation with one of the brightest minds I know.
“If I wanted to punish someone, I would grant them success on their first attempt”.
Curtains open up the moon of my violin
I have nothing to talk about
Jesse Ojuka 