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Driven

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Driving.
Thoughts fill my head.
Knot my stomach.
Almost, almost, turn me back.
I should turn back.

Driving.
A thousand butterflies release
The knots.
Their flutterings just as bad.
I should turn back.

Driving.
The butterflies have flown.
Too late to turn.
I am here.

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About Hawksword

Reluctant writer, word dabbler...tea maker, coffee drinker, rum imbiber, chocolate eater.

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