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glass between us





















I know now that it's hard
It's hard to turn things around
To bend them back the way they were
Folded paper
spoken words
scrachted paintings
refind thoughts
The way we look at people
doesn't contain just the people
but I wonder if it contains you and me
Does the glass between us
suddenly have a scratch?
Or is that only on my side of the window?
I hope
maybe we can bend it just enough
without letting it break

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