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Thrown out

 



I pick them.

Special.

They’re all special.

Well taken care of, loved, adored.

It's as if they whisper my name as I walk on by…

Some whisper louder than others.

Some have flaws, accidents, regrets.


Still-

always special,

-but some are left behind.

There are so many,

So many for us to save,

To discover,

To be given a second chance.

I pick them.

Special

To make new.

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