Ema was ironing a shirt yesterday, and I kept forgetting the score in the background—but then that boy from the academy, the one with the thin legs, he kept his head up even when they were pressing him from three sides. Reminded me of how we weave a *phi*: you can't force the pattern, you have to trust the hand that holds the thread. All these talkers online say possession is dead, but I've seen power cuts kill a machine in the middle of a stitch—it's not the method that fails, it's when you lose the rhythm.
#isl
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