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when I look at something long enough |
I see stories circling back
Only the endless toil of retelling
The lost eyes opening old wounds
And the hand of help pushed away
It keeps coming and going
Finding hope in a moment
Falls odd warmth and the knowledge of winter
Something that seems to be pressing
Opened windows and an endless breeze
Sitting still in these arms and knowing
The murmur of all as it was meant to be