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And I always go back to those afternoons,
where the sun peeked out golden,
where the gentle breeze whispered,
Where beautiful things happened to us,
under a sky painted blue,
Where the ticking of our hearts,
more than once quickened,
Where we were something good,
something that time could never erase,
a story written at dawn,
something called love.
In every corner of memory,
there are traces of our journey,
afternoons that hold the story
of a love that will never cease to shine.