And welcome the new.
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Will never bloom again.
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It's a skill. An art. A path to freedom.
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The goodbyes just keep coming. But it must be this way.
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Thoughts on things, pain, joy, and letting go.
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No need to hold on anymore.
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And ready to face it all. Finally.
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I am letting go of the past.
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An echo of a sentiment no more.
