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The light inn your eyes is dimmer than I remember it

Your chin is drooping

You snap without provocation

You’re jumping at shadows

You hate to hear words like love, happiness

You scoff at any sentimental professions of affection

You’re forever brooding

You’re nursing countless glasses of whiskey

Nothing makes you happy

You’re constantly talking to yourself

You sleep while awake

You’re tossing and turning in your sleep

You are discontent with your lot in life

Because you’re ready for goodbye.

Walk on, move on.