It's amazing how many kinds of quiet there are. Silent tranquility (lucidity?). Quiet contentment. And today, a numb void infused with melancholy. So many words left unspoken, so many emotions and urges left unexpressed. And yet I know it's best to suffer through the silence because we can't work. There's no "us" in this world that allows us to continue in these lives we've built. Togetherness would mean separation from everything that makes us who we are. Aliens to ourselves, aliens to the only world we've ever known. And could we truly be happy together apart? The flame burned bright but the wick was too short to last.
maybe i should just stop trying so hard. i mean, i still need to be focused writing reading singing laughing cooking but i can loosen up and not be a prescriptionist about everything or perhaps not.
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