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One day I died inside,
in silence and without clamour,
like a tree that withers,
without showing its cruel pain.
I died in the waiting room,
between smiles and shadows,
with a torn heart,
where time never amazes.
The words escaped me,
became distant echoes,
and the whisper of the wind
became a song in vain.
Outside, life dances
while I stand petrified,
watching the faces of others,
oblivious to each sacred heartbeat.
One day I died inside,
without a goodbye, without an end,
like the whisper of the river
that is lost in the torrent of the sea.