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I am the vine, gripping the bricks on the wall. I am the paper clip, tightly holding the papers together. I am the loving arms, that safetly hugs my family. I am the hold, that never loses its grip.  
There is no clear moment when the change sets in, No preciseness in its hold. One day, it just has you. A cold, unfriendly grip, One you tried to ignore for so long.
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