I'm still sipping wine. Still living in a story. Still traveling through yet unwritten pages of a fantasy- this hardbound diary… where I hide…
Today I reside on the opposite end of the scale where the blessings, the good things do not exist. Maybe I gave them away to someone else in a conversation, a letter. If so, I gave too much, held on to nothing.
I never complain to others anymore, but am I keeping too much in?
I still believe in love.
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