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brokenergy

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Is it sadder to know something is dead or to pretend it still works knowing that you're pretending.

(I remember reading a beautiful poem by Yeats or T.S. Elliot, forgot which, long ago about someone wondering if his lover who just left is still alive.)

post script: I was browsing T.S. Eliot poems and think I found the line I remember:

  • "Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough. We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them."
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I wonder why when I am happy I can not seem to think of a good question replying to the last person who finally saw my plight about the game?

Spoiler

Heh heh heh heeeee yay!

 

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