How is there not a word for being in the presence of truth? That feeling of being punctured by a silver dagger and then cold, steel water rinse the silver wound, while your face opens in the shape of fear.
How is there not a word for being in the presence of life? That feeling of tiny legs running across your icy skin and then boiling, hissing water rinse the aching skin, while your heart opens in the shape of fear.
How is there not a word for being in the presence of dream? That feeling of passing through a cerulean screen and then bubbly, translucent water rinse the pulsing brain, while your eyes open in the shape of fear.
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