Title: वैकल्पिक

Text: Love was a promise made of smoke in a copse of frozen trees, a bone cold and older than our bodies slowly floating in the sea. Every morning there were planes, the shiny blades of pagan angels, in our fathers' skies. Every evening I would watch her hold the pillow tight against her hollows, her unholy child. I was still a beggar shaking out my stolen coat among the angry cemetery leaves when they caught the king beneath the borrowed car, righteous, drunk, and fumbling for the royal keys. प्रत्येक पराग्राफले परीक्षण हुनेछ।

Save test: यदि तपाईं यो टाइपिङ परीक्षणलाई साझा गर्न चाहानुहुन्छ भने यो प्रयोग गर्नुहोस् (केवल प्रमाणीकृत प्रयोगकर्ताहरूको लागि)।