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Enclosed tightly in a letter, I found words of wisdom.
They came from the writer's mouth, yet echo around this small room.
Alone I sat in the corner reading the writer's letter, thinking to myself, wondering what life is like beyond these walls.
Shut in this darkened room, shedding tears that seem pointless.
Crying gets me nowhere and wishing accomplishes nothing,
yet only dreaming lets me keep my sanity.
So why do I do my living through the outside world?
Creative thoughts lead to creative words, creative words lead to wisdom gained.
Could it be that the letter I cherish, was written by my very own hands?
The words sound so distorted and twisted.
Could they be my own?
What is happening to me?
The walls, they seem to be melting.
The door is collapsing and folding.
At long last, I am free.
Thanks to the wise words of the writer's letter.