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Closed Doors

When I get home and I unlock the door, then re-lock it after stepping inside, I unfold.
The love I harbor falls out of my head and onto the floor like thousands of pieces of paper, or a sea of sand.
I don’t usually have people over.
You might say it’s a mess, if you saw it.
But you won’t see it.
Because I don’t usually have people over.
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