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To me, winter passes faster than any of the other seasons.

But that may also be because I adore winter the most, out of all the seasons,

But it's march, and sweater weather is long over, and the flowers of spring had already started to bloom, but I remained here, stuck in the cold.

But not for long.

I've healed over time, but people thought that leaving marks would make me love them.

How wrong they are to assume,

Because I have scars, and hurt from people who I thought I loved, and though it's healed, sometimes the cycle will start again.

So I'm pouring everything out here, where it won't matter as much.  Because the people who hurt me won't be able to see, and the people who might won't know.

And I'll watch, as the April showers come and go. I'll watch the flowers of spring come with it, making me feel contempt.

But only if I could stay that way.

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⏰ Last updated: Jan 28, 2019 ⏰

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