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I search in the fraternity of absolute silence for an echo of your voice. I try to evoke some memory, but I find myself trapped in an underworld with no apparent way out.
A thousand unanswered questions seal the way to the concrete. I explore the empire of the senses, but I can't find you either.
Maybe you have been just a creation of my eternal and infinite imagination.
I continue to investigate without prejudice, questioning where I went wrong. If I conceived you as a poem, have you vanished like a rhyme written in the sands of a legacy called time?
The search becomes an introspective journey, where each attempt to find you plunges me deeper into uncertainty. The absence feels like a weight, and the silence becomes deafening.
In this labyrinth of thoughts, I wonder if you were ever real or if you only existed in my dreams. The idea that you might be an illusion haunts me, but I press on, clinging to the hope that, somewhere in the universe, your essence still lingers.
The search for your voice becomes an act of love and desperation, a desire to connect with what once was.
So, on this aimless journey, I am faced with the possibility that memory and imagination are the only ways to keep you alive.
The struggle to find you becomes a tribute to what you meant, a reminder that, though you are absent, your imprint is still present in my being.
Sometimes it is really bound to happen I must confess. The struggle is definitely part of life
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I really enjoyed reading your post and I hope I can also write posts like you.
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