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Left or Right?, It's strange how much of me exists only within the quiet space between my own thoughts, a sprawling landscape of feelings and connections that never quite translates into spoken words or visible actions. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a form of self-preservation, this rich internal world, or simply the natural limit of how deeply one can truly be known, even by those closest. There's a subtle comfort in that unknowability, a private garden where the most tender parts of myself can bloom unobserved, undisturbed.Left or Right?, It's strange how much of me exists only within the quiet space between my own thoughts, a sprawling landscape of feelings and connections that never quite translates into spoken words or visible actions. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a form of self-preservation, this rich internal world, or simply the natural limit of how deeply one can truly be known, even by those closest. There's a subtle comfort in that unknowability, a private garden where the most tender parts of myself can bloom unobserved, undisturbed.
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