You spoke of the sunflower and I realized that I dont have the magic ratio.
You spoke of the river, and I dreamt that I am not in a flow.
You spoke of the song in Hamsadhwani, and it occurred to me that I am tone deaf.
You spoke of that brilliant night, all I can recall was that I felt dark.
You spoke of the Mona Lisa - and I knew that you liked her more. Than me.
You spoke of the war, and my only thought was - I lost.
Everything is about me. Always will be.
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