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My sentence does not end here;
it goes on. I feared I couldn’t do this;
I was wrong. I thought I’d been extinguished;
yet a white-hot ember burns. I felt my radiance fading;
but your love, my oxygen, revives me, and the flame of hope returns;
another second, one more minute, one more hour;
even one more day? My story is not over, this is all I know;
the power of my heart may yet sustain this glow. The spiral spins;
the sun begins to rise, its soft light lifts me from my 3a.m. despair;
my breath is in its care. The sentence is reduced to life, not death;
my story will continue, my beloved friend, for this is not the end;
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