Not the fury that you display when you’re in a rage,
Nor the old melodies that you hum with a sudden craze,
Neither the endless talks from the days of yore,
Or the petulant burst of laughter while mentioning the silliest joke.
In actuality, such myriad emotions are not bothersome but boon.
For what troubles me most is your dry doe eyes,
and the silence,
which has now become intolerant,
for they scream with a roar.
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