old old old

miraculous countertropes. guide the withered plan to forethought or foresight,
if you can. if your shanks contain the necessary gumption to plow onward.
onward. constantly doubting the sincerity of alltheflown. set myself under
the umbrellaman, waited for hours and hours and hours. or minutes and minutes
and minutes. but the sullen one didn’t show, left me waiting untimely. took
me at least three seconds to blow off that dark mood. is it too much to ask
for a little courtesy? a little courtesy? why do the people stroll so cold
inside the stair? when all their heads are bundled: they say, “help me, i’m
so alone, i have a million ache-ey thoughts, but now the darkness cramps
my soiled light!” in spite of this, they spin inside their ridiculous non-courtesy.
they show hate for the unknown, with their nonaction. what a tangled world
lurks there and what a tiny piece of it contains me. so tiny. i’ve only managed
to unravel inches maybe centimeters. it’s worthy of unravelling, i should

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