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Read them thrice everything fades here not a face. a frequency. countries hold pieces of me and i call it home. neither one is wrong. axmedovbro.t.me
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all those silent storms as
the winter tears that burned skins apart or the battleground ‘theme’ of March just like the month March itself, pretending to be spring while carrying winter in it’s bones,
the feeling of being trampled until nothing remained.
every line like salt in an old wound.
If these words ever to be found
I was already sinking.
not into the gentle waves we once dreamed of, but into a ugly depth where fear and shame swallowed me whole.
I was fading, breaking apart, drowning in an unknown land with nothing to offer but my ruins
she deserved oceans of peace, not the storm I carried nor the chaos i brought
I have no right to know what sharks did to her or how she could get to the shore
I won’t ask for sympathy
I simply didn’t know how to stay without pulling her under.
The ocean still remembers us.
and every wave that breaks against the shore quietly whispers the same thing:
I was drowning.
and I let you go… so you could swim.
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