One and a half month to go. Nope, that won't do. Me having little expectation of this is a pre-determined factor. Not that I need them in order to throw myself into yet another unfinished silent dialogue on whom I am following the beats for. Frankly, I'm quite amazed that my limbs has managed this much without them folding over to their handicaps. There was time when they deprived me of myself. Optimism just had to leave me, piece by piece, when the dark part of reality was lashing out and there was I, lost in the brutal chase.
What happens then, when the flower garden is destroyed by some misplaced explosion? We plant more of them, of course, and work our arses off to prevent future wars from happening.
Unreasonable. I have to start from the beginning. Later, once this cold subsides. Christ. I thought I've recovered from that one.
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