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Stranger

It’s been years;
they are gone—
or perhaps they were never really there.
Just an illusion I crafted,
woven from the threads of longing,
veiled by the mist of my heart.

Now that the fog has lifted,
the person I loved,
my hero,
my ideal,
has unraveled, piece by piece.

And standing before me,
in the harsh light of truth,
is a stranger—
familiar in face,
but foreign to my soul.



Do share your thoughts:)

Copyright © Martha Brown

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