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He sits quiet in my head

He sits quiet in my head

Not drawing attention or making a mess,

Just calmly telling old stories

Of days long passed.

He has stopped interrupting my thoughts,

But instead waits quietly until they are through

so that he can recall his own.

I avoid hearing his tales

until my world around me is completely dark

And the mountains of white blankets

cover my tired body.

It is then that I am lullabied by scattered stories

Of who we used to be.

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