Sir Yakuraii
With shaking feet you stood strong
Staying Death's wet hand.
pursuing my passion and my dream
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I leave my car and rush for the rotting wooden stairs leading up to the sliding glass door I've entered through since I was a young child. My chest is tight with sorrow and trepidation, but it does not stave my hand from gripping and pulling at that door, pushing my way inside, and pushing back the sob that pulls at my throat.
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