Strangers passing in the street, by chance, two separate glances meet, and I am you and what I see is me
Tuesday, 30 August 2022
Pale Fire
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff - and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. - Vladimir Nabokov
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