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White Dove

Why is it that every single thing
That seems to start ever so innocent…?

Who are you? Unconsciously suggesting, assuming.

Seemingly a world of mirth, but not for long.
Too soon, shadows of questions roll in
Like thunderclouds. There is no more laughter—
Only urging and pleading. Why does it even matter?
Things are not the same. It feels only like a dream.
They always have an icy end, just like this.
Can’t we break the rules and go back to where
The curtains first unfolded and the journeys first began?

Why is it that every single thing
That seems to start ever so innocent…?
It seems that you no longer care the way you used to.
I used to shrug it off, but now it weighs down on me,
On my heart, on my soul.
I wish I never took it for granted.
My life is empty now. Of course I have uncovered some
New talismans, but I still miss the old days
When you were always one of the first people I came to
For advice, or for comfort.
Sometimes I wish that feeling would go away
Because I know that nothing will ever be the same again.
You do know how much you can mean to a person.
The black ravens aren’t anything.





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