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Old Well

The rain evokes a distant memory of the depth of an old well, where pitter-patter raindrops suggest secrets buried within. The image of the old well fades into a faint shadow that I try to tightly close, yet the gaping wound refuses to be silenced, leaving half of me feeling trapped and waiting to wither there.


Like a lingering ghost haunting the corners of my consciousness. Half of my being feels tethered to that old well, waiting in anticipation for release while the other half struggles to move forward, weighed down by the burden of unresolved emotions.


For now, I remain suspended in this liminal space, caught between the allure of nostalgia and the promise of a brighter future, unsure of which path to take.


-vic

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