Sauntering on a manicured carpet,
I feel the needles beneath my feet.
Seeing the thread of love slip off my hand,
letting go seems easy and convenient,
holding on so difficult,
almost a strength of my tenacity.
But the closed doors matter,
only when someone is knocking;
and privacy becomes a concern,
only when someone is sneaking;
and battles can be won,
when the conquerors are left alive.
In this chaotic jungle of uncertainty,
taking ourselves too seriously;
in this capricious world of variables
constantly looking for constants;
in the days of crowded loneliness,
I emphasize on making the love win.
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