𝒜 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈
𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝒾𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔,
𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓂𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽.
𝐻𝓎𝓂𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝒹-𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓃 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓇,
𝑜𝓊𝓉𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈,
𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝓊𝓈𝓉.
𝒜𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃’𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝑒,
𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓊𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑒,
𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓁𝓊𝒿𝒶𝒽.
𝒜 𝒻𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒸𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹,
𝓎𝑒𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓌𝒶𝓎—
𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝓈𝒶𝓁𝓂𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒.








Beautifully penned, Adagio. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.