That's one sound you will always hear, whether you know it or not. Time, it doesn't pass us by. It bleeds you dry.
My names' John. No, my names' Charles. No, that's the name of my author. Then again, we're the same people. Person. But not every single thing I'm going to say is true, or illusionary false. I, he, must be in a pretty messed up state of mind to be even writing this.
This is a list, a crafted list. This is today, yesterday, and will-be tomorrow.
Cheers
Everything is still. Not literally, but there is still much to do. He sits, staring blankly at the screen. Still-shot. Fingers on the keys, but nothing typed. Its two in the morning. From the back, one would imagine the setting of a mad scientist, a mess of knowledge, notes, strewn over the desk. But zooming out, the rest of the room is fixed in a geometrical neatness. Plain, is what one would call it; bleach walls, yearning for character. That was missing. No wonder people were so silent on visits.
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