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Journalism / Sick Sick Endless Night
Sorry, thats all i have to say. Well, for the sake of converstion (that you love so much) i will continue.
If you have drawn conclusions about me as i have about you, i will take them all back. Who after all really knows anything about anyone, especialy seeing as how we never know as much about ourselves as we pretend.
I know it would be different though, thing is im not asking for another chance. I want to ask, inside im screaming until the vibrations come out in violent forms. You wouldnt give it to me, i have made such a mess of things, i couldnt pull myself out.
I often wonder what it will be like to have someone in my arms again, then i bite my lip to feel the only constant in the universe, pain. I am dead, suicide would be pointless. Ever asked a corpse not to kill himself? Or have you asked him, why, what made you do it? Sadly he wont have any answers.
I dont have any answers. Im starting to think there are none, life has turned out to be a rhetorical question.
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This actually reminded me of an unsent letter I wrote once upon a long ago to a man that I could no longer fix the situation with. It connects one to the pain of the matter, and earning an emotional reaction, I truly believe, is really what writing is all about.
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