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Ars moriendi.Ars moriendi. in Emotional
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Is there any sense of saying someting, that had been said countless times by many?
In writting with a trembling hand the river of words that had been written so many times by hands of others, that felt the same way, that had their hearts torn up? The words that are spoken only in the middle of the night, when noone looks, when you are not ashamed of your tears, flowing along with those shamless, heavy signs. Paper is able to absorb everything.
The sense and purpose of letting all of those words to come to light is always the same - entrielly, by all means selfish - just to relive your own heart, torn by incomprehensible, immeasurable yearning. Despair can overflow our soul as bitter, dark liquid and just one sight, single moment or even sound adds insult to injury.
When devours us from inside that grasping, murderous, all-powerful, destructive hunger of closeness of anyone, who would listen to us, just sit, listen and don'