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Bruges four hands

emptiness in her fist - with no trace of soft glass with your palm. Bruges from the balcony the last floor in the silhouette of the roofs was drowning. The glass channel moon from the bottom up at the sky howls. Crawling on the head arm, star-lit sea. 72 hours slipped second arrow, like a glass of hot milk could be cool in the snow in the morning. White Night on November Advent reflections of Bruges, on bridges, bridges, to bridge the two hands like the other two ...