My life is a dead tree, Spring is a mockery to it. I am re-echoing a poem by Thomas E. Moore. It’s just that I feel like a tree being pulled off from its soil, its natural surrounding and left to wither and die. Or worst, a dead tree axed for firewood. At least the latter found some use to its existence.
It’s just that I always end up being remiss. How could a nice, timely topic end up being so decisive? Hello, I was just trying to start an engaging conversation.
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