  to separate you from your greyness? Must you be always sinking backward into your grey-brown landscapes—and trees always in the distance, always against a grey sky? Must I be always moving counter to you? Is there no place where we can be at peace together and the motion of our drawing apart be altogether taken up? I see myself standing upon your shoulders touching but you, weighted down with me, yet gripping my ankles,—move laboriously on, where it is level and undisturbed by colors. |
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