hidden

a silhouette, brilliance under its dark shadow
that dark cloud still holds life even if its plans are different than yours
the sketch half finished still has the potential to be
that old dusty book holds more than dust mites and the smell of sweet stale pages
having more than just three dimensions because of what they hold
you can tear them to shreds, burn them, or cherish them because the words are perfect and clear
my advice: don't write something off just because its untitled





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