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I am not an untended house. 

Not a place of dreams that will sit and wither. 

Not something for later. Or one day. 

I am not a project. 

Not a vision for solace within completions. 

Not a maybe. 

I am not without courage nor am I unbreakable. 

Not an experiment or a possibility. 

Not a supposed to. 

I am not a story. 

Not a rerun of a tale that was once. 

Not a participant in a narrative written that was meant to be edited. 

I am not the collapse. 

Not the tissues that are dehydrated. 

Not the valves that struggle to pump. 

I am not without sight and yet I was not able to see. 

Not a fool nor unwise. 

Not able until I was able. 

I am not without grief. 

Not a path absent of the holy realm. 

Not a journey free from suffering. 

I am not without wanting. 

Not able to let go nor willing to hold on. 

Not without hope but without hoping for a thing. 

I am not what isn’t. 

Not because. 

Not for. 

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