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A lump forms in my throat at the thought of placing words in their places like shoveling dirt on a casket.
Like every living day I swim further from the shore while my mind remains landlocked,
Picnicking with my emotions,
Enjoying it as much as two rivals could.
In the end the mashup seems harmonious,
Like the dance of two blades,
Each with a wielder who finds drive and desperation in each blocked blow,
Hope and solace in each hollow swing,
A thousand whind chimes choking each others sound into oblivion,
Or otherwise sounding shrill and panicked on their own,
Theres a duality to it all,
Lose some and find some,
Let some live and let some die,
Keep some safe and ship others far and wide,
I've forgotten where my mind was,
I suppose I've pushed it off somewhere if that's how it works,
I suppose that's not how it works,
And it will come floating back.
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