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Anshita Mehrotra Jul 2016
Always choosing,
The fact that you love me.

Harsh words sound like,
Sweet symphonies;

Insults are merely,
Compliments:
In a language i am still learning.

The foriegness of being loved,
Is what keeps me here with you.
Realization has struck, but my body refuses to move.
Oh, what have i done?

— The End —