I feel the wind on my ring-finger.
The walls of my home are always white.
“Good Morning.” Good Morning. “How are you?” Fine.
Day in, day out, always reliable.
Expressing my truth brings lasting pain to those I love.
“You sour little shit!”
Outside my window, people talk with friends, make calls, drink coffee.
Hours pass, the sky is filled with purest gold.
I watch dust settle.
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