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I am the dearth of your light tonight and the stars don't rekindle as bright as my heart does when I'm with you - so all that seems dim; I see only shades and outlines and black holes and cavities. I hear only broken fiddle playing the selfsame gloomy song on repeat - it's cacophonous and uneasy and this is making me feel queasy. I can't bethink now why my best-loved thing used to be solitariness - I used to douse in lonesomeness and soak the silence into my skin.
