they pass so quickly.
I would be here, in this dark corner.
Should in case you need me.
Your presence I feel it strongly, like a ghost trying to touch the heart of the living.
I know you keep watching, just in case I end up bleeding.
So I write to you these words of mine.
True art is not found in papers but in the heart of those who carry them.
It becomes them.
They in turn become art.
I want you to see me for who I truly am.
Look deeply at the works of my hands.
Hold this truth with you.
I am just a writer and your heart is the paper in which I write.
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