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Poesía

Pain is filtered in a poem so that it becomes finally, in the end, pleasure.

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Tula #11

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I was not prepared to meet someone like you.
I was too fractured, and unsure, and immature, and flawed; and then one day, the universe just decided to shove your very existence to my face.
You are all its stars and meteors combined that crashed into my world.
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