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Softly glowing in the night, it bears no burden to itself. Just a fragment of light, illuminates the rest of right now. The wooden chair next to my desk, waiting for me to relax my muscles and release my bones. Ink splattered across the white fails to communicate the emotion put in to the act. Words were never replacement for anything. They derive their meaning from others, but ore of themselves unique. But words created the gap between the way 'I miss you' sounds, and the way it feels. A candle in the night written down on paper could mean hope, but all it ever is, is light. Flickering softly with unmelodic glow, against the white wax that would be burned.