She was a lonely bird full of unchanging melancholy. She felt a terrible appeal to detach from everything.
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Sharing poems & thoughts, one redacted word at a time.
She was a lonely bird full of unchanging melancholy. She felt a terrible appeal to detach from everything.
He'd almost given up on love. Years of fantasizing came to a thousand lonely nights. Time was running out.
The lonely life of a poet is the primary source of poems on lost love.
A lonely Saturday night. No thoughts, a tranquil house and a simple disposition of everything pleasant.