If I can only find a pen in all this chaos, I would write everything down.

There are so many little sorrows that I immediately suppress and never tell. I forget them but sometimes they don’t forget me. They come back.

I like losing you. Because my sadness is coming back to me… with that my poetry might come back too…

Either poem is ok.

Nothing else… The superficialiaty I adopted to reduce my intensity and thereby my pain, has killed my writing… hope to get everything back …. hope to die to death and live again…

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