The Sun continues to blind, yet I gaze forward as if its radiance does not agonize me, as if its warmth could penetrate my skin, as if I, a being of only mortal capacity, could harness some of her fiery power and hold it like a torch to warm my soul for all eternity.
Do I expire with such a burning? Or do I thrive off it, and wear its branding like a mark of glory?
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