You are more dead, than I am -- lives are but degrees, acknowledged
by comparison; You have been acute in crimes and I — acute in suffering, each pain imposed; The doctor told me of the places I was hurt at, and I wonder why I never knew;
I was swimming, you were a hurricane and there was no straw.
There's always a story of loss -- everyone has something to tell another; I stopped reciting my story lately -- the world is a crowd of stories, which mean to nobody but the ones those belong; I find solace in their stories now, they find in reciting to me — it's a daily job, hour after hour. Pain. -- nobody asks me for mine;
This is how stories are shared; -- you tell me until I yawn, you never ask me to put on.
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