Closed Door

She saw it again,
her fear haunting her.
How the art of deceit,
its immortal form,
was merging in her life.
Her thoughts, rather a web,
a web of vulnerability.
A web of the past,
clinging to what seemed lost.
Was it only her thoughts?
Or was history repeating itself?
She finally gave in,
gave in to find the truth.
Hope being her drug.

– by Vibhuti Kathpalia
( The best friend I could have ever asked for. )

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