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Give Like the Sun Gives
Because the sun does not choose which flowers to warm.
Golden rays pierce the morning clouds, spilling across everything below. The sunshine touches the flower that lifts its face in gratitude. The tree that drinks in the warmth. The child who runs laughing through the light. The sun gives freely, asking nothing in return. It illuminates what already yearns to grow.
A mile downstream, dark water spirals inward. The whirlpool devours everything that ventures too close. Leaves, branches, anything that floats within its grasp gets pulled down into the hungry darkness. It takes. It consumes. It demands.
Two forces. One radiates. One absorbs.
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