Now, I am left with myself.
Not in the way I once hoped,
But in a way that feels cold, detached.
I whisper words of self love,
Yet they feel hollow, like rehearsed lines in a play
Where no one is watching.

I try to believe that I am whole,
That I am enough
But the shadows of my past selves linger,
The ones I sacrificed for love
That was never meant to last.
Now, love is not something ...

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