Hoping in Solitude

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It feels really odd as I sit here in some sort of limbo

Surrounded by many yet solitude fills me

So used to the emptiness in my space

Surrounded by too much

Wanting to push out these imaginary walls

Drowning in useless thoughts

Unbelievably, inexplicably fine with the chaos of nothingness

Yearning for that which I do not know

Wondering and hoping, one emotion useless and one needed,

These things of our life are the stories we create every day

Are these moments creating the best story of our lives?

Are my actions enough or my words sufficient?

Wondering, holding on to hope, of the future…

Co writing some lives and hoping its enough to be the best

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