The Fog.

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I speak in shades of gray. I speak in riddles no one hears. I'll be the shadow you'll never figure out. I'm me and simply a burnt book in a library of people. I exist for only a few purposes. This is what the confusion is. The confusion taking away all coherence and clavoyance. It breaks us and degrades us, but its merely a simple thought. In the fog we all lose ourselves. We lose everything. We break everything around us and then when all the fog goes away, we miss the arms that seem to always found its way to the tendrils of the heart. Holding the only part together that needed to survive. And this all is carried and stolen in the fog. Some people we lose and others still decide to stay here. This is what were made of, this is what the limitations are. When blinded, we need a guiding hand. When cold when need a warm embrace. When lost, we need a way to be found and through it all, something always seems to pull through the fog. Twisting and ripping apart the insides of what you may feel, but when the fog sneaks away and the air is once clear...it's worth it for the trouble. It's worth it for the blood, sweat, and tears. This is what makes us strong, this is what holds us grounded. This is the thing we can rely on. The fog, it's always there as confusing as it may be, but it leads you out and there is fresh air. There is safety...you just have to search hard enough.





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