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You give it all but I want more.

Timidly, timidly, I approach. The door's been left ajar. I lie and say I like what you've done with the place but, when I say so, you are too distracted to hear me. My voice seems indistinguishable amongst the chatter so I step outside to listen.

It's no better there so I guess the better option is to go back into the big room with the new smells and bright lights, hoping to find my way.

I find a quiet place near the hearth and settle in with my books and blankets. I know how to hunker down, seeing how that's my specialty.

No one bothers to close the door and all the heat escapes. Cold winds make me shiver and then, to be honest, I just get angry.

The space we occupy slips away and there is only the two of us avoiding one another's glances.

The chill is making me sleepy.

With all the folks coming and going, I find myself reading the same words on the page over and again. How can I think with all this noise inside my head? You always make it okay because that's your specialty.

Shuddering, I wish I had impetus to build a fire in that dusty ol' pit but I'm afraid of getting smoke in my hair.

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