Conversations become similar,
I've been here before.
I'm not who I was,
I've grown.
I live in the livid emotion,
of tangled highs and lows.
My body swaying,
with their ebb and flow.
Melancholy always
tastes bittersweet in the end.
And smiles cross my face,
when pain is in my eyes.
Each new low,
is a covering of snow,
and so in the end,
turns to beauty.
28/01/01
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