I have walked through evenings bent with silence, where the hush of the streetlamp hums my name, a hero, perhaps, in the whisper of one, a villain in the frown of another.
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The part of me that suffers in the absence of meaningful art lit up when I read this. I'll read it, I know, again and again. This speaks to me in a language my soul can understand.
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The part of me that suffers in the absence of meaningful art lit up when I read this. I'll read it, I know, again and again. This speaks to me in a language my soul can understand.
Thank you so much for the comment and so very appreciated : ) I'm glad you recieved a deep emotional connection with it and yourself : )