Once, I was young—
soft, unguarded, untouched by the world's slow erosion.
But life whispered its ruin,
and now I move carefully,
each step weighed beneath old echoes.
I once gave love like rain—
reckless, generous, blind.
But the years, with their quiet cruelty,
taught me the art of withholding.
I've come to see—
some hearts can’t hold what we pour into them.
Some hands fumble...
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