There are those moments when an old feeling separates itself from my new spring - like old sucking roots,
so sparse, so unfeeling, so cool
a misunderstood negative, how the soul was torn apart, painted in grey and black and white
Never again will this memory be a loving memory
Nor will this memory ever be the colour of a summer bouquet
Not even if it is carried by the highest good of indispensable people.
The recurrent sprout of sudden loneliness has nothing to wish for
The pain can only be eased if one has once again experienced how the feeling was once raped.
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