It is a
strange thing
it seems
to me,
(and I know
little)
that one must
have another life
just to love,
which is
after all,
an instinct.
I have so many loves.
I have
so many lives.
I drift in between them
like a piece of down.
Sometimes I die,
and it
is cold then,
but sometimes I am born
and I see light
for the very first time
once more.
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