In the late twentieth century, one man began a journey to hike his desk. This the story of the hands holding the pens writing upon the paper on the desk beneath the man behind that journey.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
forgotten futures
"The end of the day comes closer to my ear and whispers casually that she'll be leaving me alone." -Me, 20 minutes ago.
It was a quiet morning when the past abandoned me for her other lovers. A story follows, but it's too late to open her now.
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