"The aroma of coffee...
Blank diary awaits
The spinning fan
And the ticking clock on the wall
As the rain falls down
SILENT. SERENE... THE LOUDEST SCREAM
That regular rhythm
That common music
The epitome of loneliness
Before you ever come
Or even after you've gone
And the following day"
I wonder why being myself become the thing that you hate when you asked me to turn away from being... me. Am I happy for not being myself?
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