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When the fullness of the soul invades us,
the cells will dance in an eternal embrace,
the pores will sigh with the tender wind,
and the skin will bristle in the face of the day.
In the evening where the sun bids farewell,
and the light tinges the horizon with gold,
there, in the stillness, the winged dreams
sail the air, their essence does not die.
And maybe, just maybe, in a whisper,
death is but a chapter,
a page in this infinite book,
a gentle rest on the hard road.
A journey into the deep, into the vibrant soul,
where the echo of laughter becomes radiance,
and memory blooms in every corner,
weaving the experiences in constant love.