So I casually ask about it. Silence.
So I "nicely" ask about it. Silence.
So I "humoured-ly" ask about it. Silence.
So I accusingly ask about it. Silence.
And I've waited. Waited for you to say something. Anything.
Silence.
I'd rather have the fire and rage and all things destructive than this murky fog that hides the raging undercurrent.
The silence is deafening.
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