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She was not mine to keep.
They tell me it was for the best.
Besides, is anything really to keep?
Maybe I am meant to cherish the times I held her in my arms.
In those moments it felt as if that was what my arms were made for.
I thought she felt loved. I thought she felt safe.
Didn't s h e?
She returned to the arms of the very man who drove her into mine from the start.
Maybe she expected more from me, I don’t know.
I can live with never finding out why she left.
The one thing I cannot get myself to do,
is find another reason to allow my arms to make another soul feel safe.
I guess there is one thing I get to keep….
…… my arms to myself.
Maybe one day this poem will have a happy ending.
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