how misunderstood we are.
no one truly knowing us. the good
in us.
they see only what affects them.
no deep thought
into what
makes you tick, your sadness,
your healing your dimmed fire
those
crackling embers, those broken
sticks.
at night when you lie down to
gather it all together,
to rehearse your dreams,
you reach out to touch someone
who was here once,
but in truth, never.
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