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"Vulnerability"

     They speak with cumbersome sentences, but still keep their hearts well groomed behind their rib cages.

     I'm envious of the utopian behind their eyelids and I've tried to make imitation my namesake (even though I've failed).

     I'm always scared I won't reach restitution and I'm terrified I won't get to write to the moon; I wonder if she'd be disappointed, too.

     Would it be a sin to waste the potential I have to forgive; in return, is forgiveness another reason for them to call me a soulless recidivist?

     For now, I'll accept that the unknown must keep these things. I'll hope to one day get answers, but only under the condition that it's not too soon.

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