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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ midnight spills like ink across the pews~ no carols here, only the hush of stone holding its breath. a single candle trembles, casting shadows that kneel without sound. even the stars have forgotten their lines. somewhere, a child presses a palm to the glass, watching the cold swallow the town whole. this is how holiness happens: not in triumph or light, but in the quiet fracture between longing and the weight of an unanswered prayer.
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