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Even without touching each other, it was burning.

Without belonging to anyone's body temperature,

There is a fire that grows only in the depths of the chest.

Without asking, without taking,

The heat that just quietly burns the world.

Loneliness is not coldness.

Silence is not empty.

The more a soul that is not held by anyone,

Sometimes it has a pure flame.

Standing on a nameless night,

Men know.

Even without touching,

This heat is real.

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