All her life she had believed in something more, in the mystery that shape-shifted at the edge of her senses. It was the flutter of moth wings on glass and the promise of river nymphs in the dappled creek beds. It was the smell of oak trees on the summer evening she fell in love, and the way the dawn threw itself across the cow pond and turned the water to light.
That awkward moment when you’re trying not to chode it up to a group of cool internet guys and then you totally chode it up…
With the advent of photoshop and all the techniques used to manipulate photographs it’s hard to tell whether a picture is truly genuine or not.
Never the less I appreciate the concepts behind all of them.
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