I’ve prepared this letter so many times. My head is blasted by draughts. During endless night-time silences, I find the perfect words to convey my regrets and sorrow. Tears stain my pillow. Yet, in the morning, my fingers remain untouched by ink. Those midnight phrases, like dreams, fade into an opaque, early morning mist. I then, once more, start the search for words that translates my past actions into my present feelings. Verbs into adjectives.
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Originally published: Paragraph Planet.
