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Hands held above our heads, held out as far as they can stretch. I’m trying to hold on to clouds that are always outside my reach.
I guess you didn’t notice- I fade with the setting sun. I’m no more alive than the empty home where I grew up.
I find my life is constantly swirling, cliche as it sounds, like leaves in the wind- twirling in unpredictable patterns until the wind slows down and stops again. But leaves crumble under foot and are commonly left to die in the sun- I find myself begging for drops of rain to grace me but I realize that there are none.
I guess you didn’t notice- I fade with the setting sun. I’m no more alive than the empty home where I grew up.
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