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Does it?
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What are you doing to me?
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All of your life,
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you forced back the truth by lashing out at everyone around you.
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Anesthetizing yourself with ambrosia and empty affairs.
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But you've lost the taste for those petty things.
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I'm the same person.
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No. There's a void, an emptiness that can only be filled
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by taking the next step on your journey.
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What happened to me the two months I was missing?
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I don't know.
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The mandala, the paintings, my mother.