Sometimes all you have is a scrap, an idea, a handful of lines that might carry a great deal of weight and meaning to you. Maybe that meaning is fleeting, maybe it exists in the moment and then dissipates. After expressing something you might hide it away, only to find it again and let it impact you even more than it did the first time.
This is just such a scrap, a fragment that didn't need expanding:
I think I love you, still
Recycling these toxins
It's you, all the way to the bottom
But not you
Just me, wishful thinking,
And a broken mind inherited and incapable of love
I never deserved a second of your time
But I'd drop everything to give you all of mine
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