The light may not be as bright, and the stars not as clear. Thus, the light it is. Growing in the dark cracks of our shared'and for many, shattered'realities. Evolving through piles of old and dumped energy, finding its way to the surface. A kind of magic. In the woods and the trees. On the streets and in the faces of people passing by. In the laughter of kids playing in the snow, in the eyes of older people watching them play. In the silence of the freezing evening. Defiance is a painting. Painted by dreams and conviction. Each stroke of the brush, a choice that can lead further. Each colour, a piece of a story never told before. Something else is possible. Every day. That light may be fragile and shy, but its strength lies in endurance. Enduring the cold fingers of darkness around its neck. Enduring bad men. Enduring destruction. Enduring simple stupidity. Enduring humanity losing its mind. Light never gives up. In the hush of night, where shadows creep. Through the veil of...
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