Uncovering

I got of of the psychiatric facility I had been locked into for a few months, and started thinking. Then I wrote. This is what became of it.

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5. Passion

Damn. How will I even start? Passion. The warm kind. The burning kind. The soft kind. Even the shivering kind. Many peoples favourite feeling. The passion of love; of sex; of a hobby. I guess I can explain it the way I see it. Passion is my fuel, just like anger, or fear. It wakes me up, more than the October waves of the sea. It clears my mind of all the voices. It calms me, riles me up, gives me strength, exhausts me. It kills me and makes me feel alive. It makes me different, and the same as everybody else. Without passion, I am nothing. My passions make me what I am. 

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