a poem that we write
is simply a great moment
going through us
& once it has passed
it is no longer the same
the word
that was written
before this word
is not same
as the word
being written
right now
so just write
& let go
and keep writing...
The setting sun filled the sky with orange, but when she looked up from her room’s window, the sky appeared grey. It was a cold, winter ...
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