It is strange how you should type a really long mail, then accidently delete it before it reaches me; and I should accidentally delete your email after staring at the screen for a long time and deciding to save it. (Now I could kill myself) You signed off in such a strangely affectionate way (you who keep your private self locked up in a walnut husk sealing it with a tight smile); it was quietly puzzling in a 'Hmmm..." sort of way.
Forget the words. They come out diluted, stunted, a paler shade of grey. This unholy dependence for reassurance unnerves me.I think I miss you, but I don't know why.
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