The truth is
I don't get too enthused
for anything anymore.
Everything is a compromise of the original intent
Weighed against the sleep debt I'll owe
and the amount of sighing I can get away with
without hating myself.
I wonder if this is growing up?
Everything is a compromise of the original intent
Weighed against the sleep debt I'll owe
and the amount of sighing I can get away with
without hating myself.
I wonder if this is growing up?
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