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I was [...] absurdly shy, and therefore often mistaken for a fool, which upset me deeply.
I had always been one of those quiet boys who preferred dreams to the rreal world.
... in my zeal to tell the whole truth, I put too much emphasis on my short-comings, thereby distorting it.
When I saw how she was incapable of voicing her true feelings, and how fear and envy contrived to suppress everything about her that was deep and strong, and beautiful – I saw myself.
For our lives were govorned by trival detailes. Indeed, trival details were what true life was made of.
No matter where I was, I failed to make my presence felt.
... our missed opportunities never leave us, and every time they come back to haunt us, we ache.