I've wanted to write but a book would be the proverbial bird in gilded cage, for fear it might disappear and empty her heart.
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Sharing poems & thoughts, one redacted word at a time.
I've wanted to write but a book would be the proverbial bird in gilded cage, for fear it might disappear and empty her heart.
A little voice in my mind would admit I deeply denied how his promises of comfort and love are empty desire. A sugar rush. I feel momentarily moved, but alone.
You are an empty shell without values.