An upheaval

There is nothing that quite inspires the words as the human heart. But what is the human heart – that out of which flows all emotion? Never mind these metaphors, we shall let them be. My concern now is why it is that on occasions like these, I am always flushed with words, and desirous of transpiration. I suppose it goes to show, at least, that my past few weeks have been uneventful; nothing has really happened to me that really excites me; all it has done is to leave me satisfied, such that I shall ask no more from life, and neither shall I deliberate any of the monotonous joy.

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