The numbness is clear, like the cold of the first winter night. It stings, and tenses the awareness.
With brittle hands, I shake myself - shake myself to awaken, that which is within. But all that moves is the wind.
I have chosen a path my own. I have chosen to walk a road that can't be seen by all, and sometimes is only seen by myself.
If you really knew me, would you still reach out a hand to lift me up from this cold ground?
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