Wide awake she lays at night, replaying the day’s events, clinging on to the good short moments.

They speak of this thing, something that’s effortless, something that overwhelms one with bliss, she longs for that thing,

See, she hasn’t always been one to not believe, just unable to believe that she could phantom a that thing.

To the outside world, she appears fierce ready for battle but on the inside she she a mushy sponge continously and gradually absorbing what the world has to offer,

The offer on the table, something less rosey, one that doesn’t meet her eye,

Not by other’s standards but her own, she finds herself too critical of everything she fosters,

Wide awake up till sunrise, she wonders is this even possible, only time will tell right? If she manages to play her cards right…

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