The innocence of (but not naïveté of) a soul is almost as pure as the whitest coalition of snowflakes dancing on my pale and callused fingertips. It something I know not of.
The retribution of (but not revenge for) the forsaking one's honor is as noble as the golden crest that pierces the biome. It is something I have heard of, only in Viking tales.
The aura of (AND the presence of!) a human being that speaks the language that can potentially bind souls is as beautiful and powerful as the smile upon a child's face, the compassion of the human race, the cleansing felt when graced. It something I know exists, only through the sharing of my brother Jamie's experiences with another like him, that is bundled and bonded with him and bound by the sound of the synthesis of their voices within.
(inspired by Michelle)
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