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  • maybe it's wind, or the faraway hum of a whirring engine
    but from here, i like to think it's just the noise of the air particles bumping into each other
    the time of the morning where worry sits in the corner with last night's clothes
    and i marvel how we run in circles
    and to what loveliness that often leads
    and i think i was, as i expected, just as i should be
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