Scriven Treasures

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“sitting at an old desk, marked over time, worn, a felt pen in my right hand, a slight vanilla perfumed sheet of paper before me, soft lighting, classic music quietly in the background, a fireplace crackling, big floor to ceiling windows allowing me to look up occasionally as I try to form a sentence, capture a thought, watching the evening glide past my window”.

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. Do I dare disturb the universe? I have gone at dusk through cobblestone streets. For decisions and revisions that a minute will reverse.

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