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My days are a worn canvas,
with stains of perfidy, with laughter that hurts,
promises float like fallen leaves,
sighs in the arms of an icy wind.
I need someone to light up the night,
to sew the lost thread of my science,
an artist of the soul, a skilled healer,
to tear this heavy existence from me.
I want his hands, soft and firm,
to take pieces of shattered dreams,
and in each suture, a new heartbeat,
to rebuild what has been left in shadows.
I need, yes, someone to stitch me up,
a lighthouse in the fog, a fire to embrace,
regaining the essence I once lost,
to leave behind the pain that time undoes