| Current mood: | disappointed |
Can I have my wasted days back?
Because that'd probably be the larger portion of my life.
Hell, just give me those and take the rest--good, bad, all of them.
The wasted ones will suffice. They're where the truth of myself resides in solitude.
Where it almost probably belongs.
I hate calendars. They remind me of days. Only certain ones though. One I don't like is coming up. The cerebral cortex won't release it's grip on the alcohol laden stream of information. The beginnings of my education on the meaning of a seemingly contradictory term. Appropriate then was my educator.
More the bitter, than the sweet, sadly.
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