We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
everyday i wake up and it's not sunday. my arms failed me this morning. i missed picking up the clock three times. i shall turn into an imbecile soon. oh, helen, when you praised me for that imbecile sentence we both didn't know, didn't know.
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