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In the fleeting territories of presence, we converge and scatter like blown leaves; each moment an imperfect piece fixing only in memory, where the bruises of week-end passions contrast vividy with the brush of winter loneliness. - Elena Clague In the fleeting territories of presence, we converge and scatter like blown leaves; each moment an imperfect piece fixing only in memory, where the bruises of week-end passions contrast vividy with the brush of winter loneliness. - Elena Clague In the fleeting territories of presence, we converge and scatter like blown leaves; each moment an imperfect piece fixing only in memory, where the bruises of week-end passions contrast vividy with the brush of winter loneliness. - Elena Clague