I stood in front of a lake filled to the brim with silver liquid. The light reflected on The Lake’s surface does a sensual dance especially for me, a garish display that reveals the true depth of its mystery. Nothing was clearer, as The Lake locked my eye: that moment, a poem was created that would take a thousand years to die. And I stood before the lake, alone before this alluring specter, I wanted more than anything to walk away, to experience the waking morning as I did yesterday, with an absent but satisfied mind. People, newspapers, cars, all become a revolting banality! The Lake did not spare me! The smell of freshness, a blindingly white arena of fog frames my vision. A true tease: This natural and flawless beauty lacked the ability to love any one or anything. Despite all of this, I loved all the more. Black silhouetted mountains line the horizon forever form an eternal embrace with The Lake. Envy fills me. The clouds were in love with it too; for they could not hold their place in the sky, but chose to lie intimately upon the surface, upon the skin, of my beautiful Lake.
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