I talk. I talk to the sea or the mountains or a pillar or a tree but not you
Because I've this fear of being right or wrong, fear of being judged, being labeled.
I'd say and I'd regret, or may be I fear of being misunderstood.
No, may be not being understood at all.
May be I told you everything and you loved me for being me,
But then you never wanted me to be me.
I need to stay silent but I crave to speak.
No I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to myself.
This is getting oblique, I've to stop. Forget it, it's nothing.
Words written convey so much than the words spoken. Alas! relationships are made or broken with words 'spoken'.
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