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  • So it hits again,

    What has become of us? What has become of me?

    How to describe my identity …

    What to expect any longer from one’s self?

    What could I expect? How could I be there?

    “I’m here I’m here, but not all together there.”

    In this silence that is not mine I find only what is his, not what is there but what remains.

    How to understand? How to relate?

    Calling, forever calling

    Falling forever falling

    How do I catch him if it is I that needs to be caught?

    Sweet silence there is – hiding within such a deadly oh so deadly virus for us all to drink, toil and
    trouble.

    Spinning, forever spinning

    The hand that once has writ moves on

    Could I stop it? Could I become it? Nay, for it is fate and no matter how I’d want,

    No matter how Id wish

    It could never be other than what it is and it is;

    It truly is.
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