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Your voice is music.

It is like violins when you are happy, oboe when you are sad, brass thundering, when something has angered you.

When you speak of love, it is like a piano, quietly rippling. Air on a G-String, The Moonlight Sonata, Für Elise – it is all these, and something more.

Half the time, the subjects you talk about mean nothing to me. They wouldn’t interest me in the slightest, if anyone else was discussing them.

That doesn’t matter.

I will lean my head on your shoulder, smile and listen.

Keep talking, please .

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