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Can we be comfortable in silence?
As a dear friend once wrote, we have an odd relationship with words. As a writer say, words are the source of misunderstandings. Sitting in silence under a streetlamp (with the only noises being the scratches of our pens) made me wonder: where did all the wasted words go?
Into nothingness, I suppose.
(Melancholy was the perfect emotion for the end of the year.)
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