I watch you slowly disappearing, unravelling in yourself. Such a pity. You were once worth so much. And now, you're barely here.

And please, I can hear you loud and clear. Your voice is ringing in my head.
"Writing is a form of therapy; how do all those who do not write, compose, or paint manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in the human condition?"
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