Hope

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There is no love in my heart. It’s as cold as ice and as hard as stone. There is no light left upon my soul. It is as dark as the night and as empty as the shell of the body that surrounds it. There is no life but a memorial. A spec of rememberance that still hides itself within. A shriveled piece of hope that refuses to be snuffed out by the icy darkness. It holds vigil daily and never gives up. It clings viciously to the outskirts of the horrid internal black hole. A lone memorial, fighting. So even though there would seem to be nothing, there is still everything. 

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