A starlight expression wrapped in the conscience of a guilty man. The folds of time like creases in a worn-out map. Fraying, yet defined, the imposed latitude and longitue now a defining characteristic. What new distraction can be found to be the next excuse? Failure is the easiest thing to justify.
A stutter more pronouced this morning; distracted thoughts of love. Torturous in my rest, knowing I don't even have time for rejection in my real life, and that's my reason not to try.
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