painting, ART BRUT CAT. It lingered, the weight of something unseen, pressing softly against the edges of awareness, a memory that never settled. The air trembled with absence, stretched thin, humming with echoes of what was lost or never found. In the stillness, motion without movement, a rhythm pulling endlessly into nowhere. A quiet presence hung in the void, heavy with the unspoken, cradled by the vastness of its solitude
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