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Broken

After all that has happened I can’t find it in me to hate this place
To point fingers
To let go of all that pent-up frustration.
When I walk these corridors
I remember the bittersweet moments as nostalgia quietly creeps up on me
I’m somehow still here
When everyone else isn’t
Nothing much has changed about me
Except maybe my body
And the fact that I now care about awesome views and flowers and weird trees and poems and cute tea cups and baking.
Everything else is still the same.
Everyone around me keeps evolving
Keeps changing…
I want to whisper to them ‘Wait for me’
And sometimes I’m forced to do a little math in my head
Also forcing me to realize that time has indeed passed.
I still can’t hate this place
So…
When I look at this tea cup that my mother had stashed away for years in an abandoned cupboard,
I try to imagine someone else’s life
Just a bit broken like this tea cup,
but…
I am also reminded of my own.
‘Just make sure you notice the collateral beauty’ or something like that ????????