There is an insurmountable pleasure that comes to those who witness dusk. The birth of a new day foretells new beginnings, and the cool morning air does well to soothe the nerves. To the lucky few, who sit on their balconies and watch the shop keepers emerge from their houses and head to their shops, life is very simple. It is not a matter of taste or fancy. It has nothing to do with pleasure or even happiness. It is simply an endless cycle, repetitive, that never ceases to be reborn, never dull and never the same. And in that endless cycle is a certain holiness, not because the world is round, not because it revolves around itself, but simply because it exists.


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