In my strength, I have been weak; and in my silence, I have been deafening. I am a creature of sentimentality and I remember, perhaps, too much, and let go of too little. Simply, I don't know when to stop or serenely accept.
I'm sorry that I must write what I cannot utter and that you must be the object of my hankerings.
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Say something! And you don't even have to rhyme or wax poetic.