“If ever I tell you about my past, it’s never because I want you to feel sorry for me, but so you can understand why I am who I am.” Anonymous
Through panes of bone and flesh, I gaze, Upon a world in whirling blaze. A million sights, a gallery, Yet who stands witness—who is me? Is it the child, wide-eyed and new, Who drank the sky in shades of blue? Who chased the wind, who climbed the trees, Untouched by time, untouched by ease?
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