You banished me from the coldness of your embrace. Despite my begging and suffering, as I tore my ragged clothes in desperation, you showed no mercy and gave me none. My knees were grated and grazed from the harsh ground on which they stood. However, you, oh cold statue named Love, pointed your accusing finger at me, crowning my heart with thorns while exclaiming, "You, my child, the one who denied me! You, the one who refused my embrace! You ungrateful creature! You shall now wander the moors with pain in your heart and inhabit the shadows of my Love!" Despite the harrowing circumstances, my squirming soul persisted, and with what was left of my heart, I endured the pain. My teary, blurry vision became the prelude to new perceptions. But that was it, for I was scarred. I am scarred. I will be scarred, and no words, neither from that statue of Love nor yours, will provoke a change in the way things are. I have walked the moors, wept, and wailed throughout the vastness of the ...
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