This one hit home for me.
Have the wild things really gone? Or are they just hiding, waiting for us to remember...?
Dig deeper, break the cement. You'll find them.
Hey there. When things were really bad, I took comfort in writing; I wrote a lot of things down in a book that I had. Somehow I felt that poetry had the ability to express feelings in a way that nothing else could, and so I came up with a few poems of my own, in an attempt to express or even explain how I was feeling, even if just to myself. And guess what - I just found the book! Re-reading them just made me think, and reflect on the state I was in. As hard as it might be to believe, it's actually quite difficult to remember exactly how it was. I doubt I could accurately describe or explain it all to anyone now. All of the memories seem strangely hazy, I don't really know why. My guess is that I was so distant from everything, even myself, that it was like I wasn't really there; wasn't fully present, so it's almost like when you wake up from a dream - You can remember some things, but the more time passes, the more distant the memories become. With...
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