Not letting the words hit the page for fear of losing them; won't be able to use them later, they will be trite and contrived and lack the meaning I need them to carry.
Instead, I imagine conversations that should be, the things I need to say only ever revolving through my head, never coming out and becoming concrete.
But I have this pathetic hope that I'm getting closer, that your responses mean not all is lost. Maybe it is, and I have yet to catch on; maybe you really meant what you said this time. Maybe you were always capable of doing so, while I have lost that capability.
Keeping this to myself, despite the fact that it all comes out in public anyway.
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