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In the stillness of night blankets of darkness smother all my attempts to remember who I once was. I am six years old, soon to be thirty From a solitary tower high above me float the faint voices of my parents, drifting down like black snow. "He's so timid." "He's so shy." "He withdraws from others." "We're so embarrassed. What shall we do?" I would run from this house, were it not for the chains of shame anchoring me solidly to the bedpost. Ten years pass while troubled thoughts shift sleeplessly on the chilled edge of dawn. A person emerges before me to volunteer this observation: "You seem timid, shy, and tend to withdraw from others." I would run from this conversation, were it not for the chains of my parents' voices reminding me to be a good boy.
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