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Do you remember me? I don’t think you do, really. If you did, you didn’t have to think about anything, didn’t have to take your time. You’d know who I used to be all that time ago, who I am now (despite my deceiving armour), and most of all you’d know who I am growing into.

Sometimes I do hate the cowardly way I hide behind the written words. Though they’ve been reliable companions in battles of the heart, it takes the swift, targeted attacks of the spoken word to deliver the victory. How often have I not been incapable of gathering enough courage to do so and enough strength to face the possibility of my words being looked down on and thrown back in my face as not sufficient to break down walls, not worthy of being taken in and embraced not as weapons, but as gifts of rare jewels!

I remember you and who you wanted to become. Some words spoken too harshly, most unspoken, some said when they shouldn’t have been, too many said too late. Regrets for what was not – said, done, tried.

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