I don't really know what to write, only that I am inclined to do so when sleep eludes me.
I prefer to express myself using my own words, but the immortal words of one Maynard James Keenan sum everything up so completely:
"How can this mean anything to me, if I really don't feel anything at all?"
"I choose to live and to grow, take and give and to move
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I miss you Boobah. And your writing.
And I love you. And sometimes I think you're more of an optimist than me. :p
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