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There are days that everything seems too soft to touch but too hard to feel.
There are days that feelings seems too far but too real to ignore.
Is it me being tired of looking everything by its core?
I am but a plastic with water, following its mold, following its shape.
I dream of sunrises when I lift my own head above from my bed.
And not just because I have to, or need to, or is expected to.
Will there be that day? Maybe.
12/3/2024 3:32AM
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