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I got sawdust in my veins and a mind I'm trying to tame.
Maybe talking to ourselves is not really trying to keep ourselves company, but trying to understand the silence, channel someone else's memory and presence from a distance.
Maybe talking to ourselves isn't a sign of insanity, but of sanity.
There's just something so bittersweet about piano melodies and poetry that oozes sadness and lost memories.
Stop silencing yourself.
These lungs aren't still filled with you, are they?
If honesty kills, then I'll risk dying.
Because honestly - I can't take the silence of you, when you hold white lilies and hymnals to your chest, and all I wish to do is sing into you.
Your soul can love
Time and time again
you will love....
God loves us even when we don't love ourselves.
That poem that illustrates my heart and that I conveniently lose and cannot pen again...