no matter what I say, only I will truly listen
if i take your hand and spill out my confession
your translation: a hundred miles away
the first of its kind, my individual mind, will end with me
will rot into the earth in 60 something years
but these finite cells, these fallible organs, that make up my body bare
striking similarities to those who surround me
bleed through across our plane, showing we’re the same in superficial ways
we all hold a common, a prisoner in our personal hells
this hell keeps me numb and blind to the ones that i love
so please understand when i say
i can never begin to understand you
i just know you’ll try your best
and when it’s time for us to part
life goes on for the rest
“It is of course imagination on my part if I now maintain that at the time I already felt that something had come into my life, mine and none other, that I alone would have to bear with me henceforth, for ever and ever. I see myself lying in my little cot, not sleeping, somehow vaguely foreseeing that that was how life would be: full of special things that are intended for one person only and cannot be put into words;
what is certain is that, little by little, a sad and weighty pride uprose within me. I pictured what it would be like to go through life filled with inner experience, in silence. I felt a passionate sympathy for adults; I admired them, and resolved to tell them so.”
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