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Ever hear of the story of a young boy age 16 with big dreams for his life? All it would take is a different scene for his life to start and begin starting with a pen, paper in his hand, words flowing from his lips.
History is the past reflecting to the present, past memories recorded.Sometimes it’s regarded as credible and other occasions, farfetched ideas made up distorting it; the Truth.
Oh dear precious, How precious you are and beauty that consists within thee. Just like a stamp, pressed hard to a piece of paper, leaving the marks identical mirror image, such as you, a mirror image of me.