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A few days ago i was reading a letter a wrote to some friends as a kid and honestly, i was surprised. I remember the rush with which it was written and i never expected it’d be so good to deserve admiration years later. The reply proved otherwise anyway, but as i reread it and the reply i got too, i understood. I understood the power of the voice, my voice, the one i’d been reading much about and desperately trying to find. However i found it again, my spontaneity, my tone, my details and then after some thinking i realized i’d been overdoing it; trying to get a new voice, holding back, being afraid forgetting i already had a good loyal voice watching, waiting.