From the from pen of Ink Witch Venus De Mileage, a tale untold in the telling... THE AVENUE OF REGRETTABLE FAREWELLS is situated beyond a corner as yet unturned. A corner of a street; a street that is, in its mad fusion of brazen modern attitude and ancient architecture, much like any other street that houses shops whose windows offer untold treasures for strangely shaped and even ill-gotten coins. Technically, it might be supposed, the 'street' out of which the 'avenue' runs tributary, is more an avenue than the avenue itself, but where myth and whispers and the aches of hearts govern, there is no place for technicality. And as this avenue, this living graveyard of goodbyes, boasts no postal address and claims no place on any geographical map, it can be named an avenue or a lane or whatsoever it or anyone, for that matter, wishes; for who can dispute the details of that which does not exist for everyone and does not, when it does exist, manifest itself in identical ways in the eyes of the beholders? The avenue, like beauty, is indefinable. Like love, it is intangible. Like death, it is just around a corner as yet unturned.
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