A rolling plain, a forgotten place and ruins as far as her eye could see. The seeds of civilization were rising again among them , maybe as primitive , with struggles no less than those eons ago.
She could hear echoes of those struggles if she just heard carefully, almost lost in the sound of the wind .
Sitting at the edge of the precipice, almost wished the ruins could be built again and then it just struck as unreal, almost un-sacrosanct.
When something beautiful falls to pieces, the crumbling remnants take a life of their own . Enchanting, painful and heartbreaking, like a scrapbook of memories.
Beautiful. Ephemeral.
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