A plan a retreat to a barony of candy half a world away. Sugarplum slides and candycane carriages collide in a geyser of opulence. A trio of symmetrical black holes crest the horizon of my future. What was once excitement has decayed into a gray smear resignation behind my eyes. I send emails to my future self, in the hopes that the past will look brighter from the sheer bleaching of age.
12:13 p.m. - 2016-11-07
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