It feels as if my heart is a pot that is boiling over and the words that come wave after wave seem to disappear when they hit the shores of my mind. The thought of the loose ends that must be cut makes me feel like a violin with too many broken strings. Beautiful, yet not completely useful. I've held my composer and stood like a solider, but my heart is becoming weary.
I must continue on in the absence of you.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
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