This time of the year

Things don’t make the same sense as before…anymore

I spent years building a shining facade…

Sewing, patching, mending till my fingers were sore

Now…as the seasons pass by…I find myself picking at the stitches

Quietly but determinedly unravelling…

Removing layer after layer

What will be exposed – I know not…or have forgotten maybe..

Why have the covers become so heavy?

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