For as long as centuries can measure in my lungs,
I have breathed in the ages of this place…
Every single season that has passed, every cloud that has breezed by, every star that has shone out,
I’ve held it all in.
Yet a sort of desolate air still wavers above my head.
And emptiness fills me up to the brim, spilling over all that I know and all I’ve become.
Broken isn’t even the problem anymore.
Three life times ago, I asked myself:
“How do I fix what has been ruined by my own beliefs, my own knowledge, and my own silent thoughts? ”
Today, I see that the time is now.
And Recovery depends upon how fast I can breathe out everything I’ve taken in,
And paint the meaning I have longed for, upon the canvas of my life.
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