Sometimes you just have to make a sound, just to be heard. Just to know that you are still real. Perhaps that weird 4am conversation I had where someone explained to me that writing was like self-harming in that respect. I looked at her arms for the tell-tale-white scars, but there were none. I asked her about her writing, it turns out she didn
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I should have not burdened you with it.
Instead, have some better news:
The snowdrops are beginning to wake up and the birds are just beginning their "Let's have a shag!" dawn chorus.
Which is news of sorts.... X x
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Hope things settle down.
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