There are three strings missing

On my violin,

I think of touching the last one,

But it’s very delicate and thin,

Outside the dusty window

And closed-compact walls,

Is a road that goes far

And stands tall.

Down that easy road,

Bearing risks of a rough patch,

Some blind-trustingly go aboard,

While some get weighed down

By the fear of detach.

There are...

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