And I should, by the way, write more poems.
"This place is wild, untamed and free, and here my heartache lies
A cold, secluded spot in which the loving memory dies
In stead a hatred starts to grow, so cruel and uncontrolled
It boils and bursts, and it wants out, but I must learn to hold"
Taken out of one of my favorite pieces. Completely unrelated, yet so fitting.
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