It is a glassy choice to make, mighty and so frail, loaded with doubt, tension heightening. A side must be chosen, to ease the load, to clear the glass fro it's wrinkles.
When it is thrown up, racing the atmosphere, flowing and turning, flipping like a silver coin, toasted into a free flight, alas it reaches its height, to a full stop,
then a reverse motion, slowly, and then with speed, falling down to whence it began, upon reaching the bottom, a roar of celebration sparkle,
a sight relief, a choice now could be made, but soon as it kissed the ground, it bounced back up,
flying into the sky, repeating the process, again and again and, the story persisted, the puzzle remained a puzzle.
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