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A Bias Doesn't Make A Right

I remember that night.
The night that seems not too long ago,
Yet the memory so incredibly distant.

Third round of arguments:
Time to settle whatever it was that had to be settled.
So, we bickered and muttered and cursed words under our breath.
Words unsaid out loud,
Cruel words we could not say to each other.

There's that old saying: "Don't start something you can't finish."
You started with an aim to finish,
But eventually you found your escalation to be wrong.
Still, you couldn't resist the tugging of my skin.

A bias still doesn't make a right.

So, we dared into a tango harsher and faster,
Screaming through the screen,
And the screen took that passion and changed it to common words,
Muting voice and tone.

And then you finally hit me.
Swung a strike that causes a blow.

It caused my soul to relapse,
A strong wind hit a sail during a harsh storm.
The sail flapped and flopped and nearly tore.
The sail didn't cut the wind,
It just held up against the strong, overbearing breeze.

Not obeying the wind was it's claiming fatal sin.

But, like the sail, I moved on after the storm.
In my essence, the storm was just a storm.
You constantly try to reopen the wound, but the pain is gone.
The punch is just a scar.

Each faded scar across my pale skin is a light streak against my white canvas.
The scars are lessons and stories.
Once, tales how I lived before,
Which later evolve to new ideas on what to carry on.

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