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After
I
finish,
it's
like
the
part
of
me
that
can't
fall
asleep,
the
part
that's
staring
at
the
cracks
on
the
ceiling,
wondering
and
worrying,
is
emptied
in
the
diary
for
the
night.
During
the
day
I
fill
back
up
and
the
pages
wait.
I
like
to
think
you're
holding
my
thoughts
for
me
until
I
can
tend
to
them
again.
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