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Freud said that emotions,
unexpressed, find no rest,
they resemble shadows, passions,
which forge their bond in the soul.
Buried alive, in cells of the breast,
anguish nourishes, a fire grows,
they keep secrets, dreams undone,
and time turns them into a tremendous echo.
Don't close the door, let the tears flow,
the tears soft as a spring,
for what you deny begins to wound,
and in your silences a gale rises.
They are goodbyes that were never given,
whispers that dance in your heart,
every laugh you stifle, every sleeplessness,
leave deep traces in your reason.