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Sep 2012
I envy some birds, only the ones that can soar.

They have time.
To see, to be. They are the wind.

I envy the wind, silent, overwhelming, in control with no words.
Everyone goes with the wind, they have no choice. No voice no box, no voicebox, no locks.
Written by
Keloquial  Carolinas
(Carolinas)   
440
   Ishita Bhatia
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