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Visions diluted from the struggle of coping with the now and all the questions that come with it. Are these dreams or mere instances of destiny that we would rather be blind to, is finding self an imaginary game we made up to keep the mind occupied?

We sleep then awake to skeletons we try to escape, and this window brings us closer to truth than we wanted to be. Don’t we remember when we were the hope,
Has that faded  along with youthful potential?

Only if we stay at this window and let it drown us in our regrets and its memories of such.

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