Writing one

Thread Topic: Writing one

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    The pitter patter of rain breaking the deafening silence as thoughts of my time with them come to me. Thoughts so sadly familiar to me flood my mind and continue to consume the twilight hours of the night that I should be at rest. I begin to wonder if they think about me as much as I think of them, very unlikely, what small time we share leaves me pondering everything that is said for nights after. Am I so much as a passing thought? Do they await the next meeting as I wait? Not so patiently waiting for the next exchange of words, each night since the last drives me to question myself. Why do I expose my deep hatred of myself to them, what did they do to get me to break the every wavering facade that admittedly is not a convincing show. Why do they deserve to know? Why do I desire to tell?When every second guess brings the belief that they care nothing of the man but only of the monster you've become, then why do I feel the need to tell all? When all in return I get nothing, the lowest point that you will have is when you realize you do not truly know anything of the person to which you have trusted everything

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