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  • I dreamt about a career, what I have is a job. "Can you remember", I asked myself the other night, "what have you ever wished to do with your life?" Silence was the answer. Silence was the rhyme. Silence, so deeply kissing my stomach from the inside, cramps hurting my spine, and now I write this sickness from my desk. My life is dry, my dreams rained, and so this is silence.

    And so this is silence - a match that doesn't light up in the dark boredom of routine. This thirsty silence, glowing out of everything we say "never mind".
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