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November 26, 2009
The pencil in my hand is hard and cold and can't help me express what I'm trying to say to you because you won"t hear it, you can"t, no matter how I verbalize the delicate thoughts that are too sensitive to be exposed to the light of day, and you never were a good listener, just a good talker, and I could have listened to your voice for a hundred years but then one day you fell silent and disappeared and I've been looking and looking but I can't find you so maybe we were never meant to