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The Disease

Here lies the land of the deceased. I look out upon the highways, the roadways, and the railways. Here the dreadful souls make their way. Onward to another day. The torpid haunt these streets. Lost in oblivion. Like a disease.
Not a physical one,
but a disease of the soul.

That sets their eyes upon the past that sets their hopes upon the ground. The dome is but a dome as we live within a case. The sphere is but a sphere hanging up above. The future is nothing but another symptom of life.
I can tell you that each one has it. Every single soul I see. A disease. And the symptom is a beating heart, a working mind, a living soul, though sadly I must admit it ends in death.
"A solution!" The people cry.
Poor souls.
But a solution there is. The solution, or rather the treatment is not to survive, but to thrive. Not to simply live but to find joy in living. There are things we did not choose to take up. Things we had no choice but to go through. But it does not matter. Lift your head. Rejoice in the good that's found. Reignite your spirit with laughter and with joy. See hope in tomorrow and see the beauty in today and smile through it all.

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