Last night I heard myself echo my long dead father's summons. A midnight epiphany telling death to come back. Sleep was fitful, and I found no peace of mind.
In the morning, I examined the cartograher's map of my heretofore life. An endless and benign series of hills. Empty-gap monsters show drawings of ambivalence, flanked with familiar lettering: "There is no adventure here". I chuff my amusement and tally another completed cycle. Empty fog of war is still dispersed with un-heroics.
1:31 p.m. - 2015-12-31
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