| 200_minutes | ||
| deb |
months crawl by, pointed noses and sickly fingers prod and pick us all along- hours dance fluidly about me as i remain rooted, idly watching the scuplted clouds waift by- but the sparse time i have with you... all i do is blink, and it's gone. 200 perfect minutes spent, my only recipt: tired eyes and a fixed but genuine smile 8-8-00 |
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