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A warmth often surrounds me
and I wonder
if the holes in my heart
have finally begun to knit back together

It's been so long
and all wounds eventually heal.
Don't they?

I realise, as a cloud looms,
that I have been using words on notepaper
to cover them
like a white purity

However, the structure I create
to protect me,
is paper thin

If I stumble
I fall
right through

The white innocence
is torn once again

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