turning
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Blessed with the gift of freedom
We’re constantly at war with an idea
The idea of being true to ourselves and to each other
I sit, looking out, seeing PEOPLE, PLACES MOMENTS
"Tear here," his soul whispers.
And he does.
"And here," it adds.
And he tears.
The blood bonds pull back, the cobweb of relations
Swinging aside,
Revealing the next rip.
