One and the same

She is me, and I am her

Only one...

Cassandra is a manifestation of who I want to be

The drawn-up form of my perfection

And I am the clumsy fool

Masquerading my faults in writing

Cassandra dances

I stumble

Cassandra writes her feelings

I lock mine up

Must I choose between identities?

Can I not carry on this charade?

Am I not sincere enough?

Can the two not exist as one?

The End

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