Poem -

7

7
I was 7. 
I remember clearly, because the crispy air of the Romanian winter froze my lungs from the inside out. 

I was 7, and innocent. 
Happy. Content. Glad to be alive. 
My mind filled with ecstasy. 
Who - who in the world would have thought that this would happen to me?
When did every cell in my body turn to the dark side? 

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