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Picture taken at Tate Modern, installation by Japanese Artist Kusuma. 

And if it were a moon-lit night and your face shone beneath the velvet that were my eyes, would you still call it a romantic cliche?

Would you still halt to ponder the right from the desire, the light from the fire, the sir from the sire, the maiden from the squire?

Would you still assume ignorance in matters of the heart and declare the victory of your wit?

Would you not surrender for at least a while before you discover that you have done so for your lifetime?

But you are immortal, and matter merely dissolves to be absorbed by another as your memory stretches till the end of time and back. You have created a cycle and you fell prey to your wit. For you have achieved so much and drawn the course of a lifetime for little minuscule chemicals running wild within all gray and white matter; those you thought you were protecting, defending, fighting for against two or three million atomic and molecular attacks.

You have failed and in your failure you have triumphed.

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