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Feb 21
It’s always a strange kind of comfort,
To start drifting in the middle of class,
A familiar sense of disconnection creeping in.
Our partner, attuned to the shift,
Sits beside us without a word,
Their hand gently finding ours,
A silent offer of reassurance.
They’ve seen these signs before,
Lived through the cycles longer than I have,
Each shift in us a reminder of the shared journey.
In their eyes, I know they understand,
The way our minds stretch and splinter,
And how, together, we navigate the fragments.
Soulless
Written by
Soulless  17/Other/Nowhere
(17/Other/Nowhere)   
85
   PhantomDreamer
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