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Being me means nothing. It’s just me, plain me, with no added value. Words that I speak to myself, thoughts that remain wrapped in cocoons of undefined nothingness, aborted ideas.
And silence, a lot of silence. So when you are forced to keep everything for yourself, without having the pleasure to share what you feel, to discuss projects or whatever, you slowly start to delete all the things that look superfluous, till you become a basic version of yourself. With no added value.

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