Poetry

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Untitled 9

At the forest's threshold, the scent of green steals my breath away. The ground is rough. I dip my feet into white-spotted shallows, and faces greet me like old friends returned. The green sea does not come toward me, yet I go out to meet it, unperturbed. To you, who have somehow grown so composed, I leave behind a few unanswered questions. Mirages shimmer, fooled by the bare branches. Blossoms of fever, vivid before my eyes.