A drizzle of nostalgic knocking that sounds like windchimes. Hardened, jaded, and bitter years-- full of First World Problems-- shearing away naivete. The exchanges are short and punctuated, and full of self-perpetuating defeat. Behavioral sink nibbling away at the minds of every zombie. The quiet formation of a worldwide pit of despair. Invisible to omnipresent glass-eyes. Soon, the world will set behind the sun.
5:26 p.m. - 2021-04-09
Recent entries:
Closed For Summer - 2021-04-29
Last Gold Evening For A While - 2021-04-22
Early Summer Blooms - 2021-04-22
Dead of Unwinter - 2021-04-15
Familiar Lines - 2021-04-15
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