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I see them making their way,

An inch closer everytime,

To you who talks,

Like a pretty summer day,

But is like the rare cold autumn evening,

Assuming you’ll shine on them,

Like you shine on me.

But, little do they know,

That I’m not the ice that melts in the sun,

I’m the fire that keeps him warm,

On all days and nights cold.


words for the day

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