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Late

How can you tell if what you feel, is love? Or hate?

How can both feelings clash so hard, like the raging waves onto rocks. Over and over. Barely getting chance to catch a breath between blows.

Does the desire to keep going, mean it’s love? Or are we addicted to the pain of hate, feeling invalid. Worthless.

How do you know when to turn and run towards drier land, or throw yourself in to the unknown to be consumed, filling your lungs with water? To be weighed down, to find eternal peace in the deep darkness?

I guess we never really know. We end up waiting for someone else to make that decision on our behalf. Then blame them for the outcome. When all along you have the choice for yourself, you just couldn’t make it.

But now it’s too late

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