It burns,I know.It burns now,now thatthe story is over,now thatthe daybreak is liquid,now thatmy knees don't creak anymoreand the leaves are blowingand the highway is humming,and a few extra pounds is nota terminal diagnosis.It burnsin me toohealing mebut the ache is not for you.It's for my passion.That used to be your name.And it's sad, really.The sting oftoo littletoo late.
-Vironika Tugaleva
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