The End?

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The pages of this book I write are drenched in the words that tell the tale of my everyday, and these pages are covered in changes I took and the ones that I had missed, and are stained from all the times I played with death and every month is a new chapter. Heavy and weighted from the ink I have forced upon it, each page grows heavier than the last, and becomes harder and harder to turn so much so often at times it seems easier to stay where I am, on the page of yesterday, till the ink dries and I gain the courage to move on but even then I will still be behind and never quite catch up to where I should be.

~hail

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