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You seem to have misplaced me; I am on this endeavor alone. And I miss your ocean colored eyes and how the belonged with the sunset in mine. It echoes, my head, with things you can no longer seem to say.
It is now that I understand that I have underestimated the angst towards complacency.   Complacency is being finished. Uninterested. The lack of fear.
I have fallen into a pattern of ticking and tock-ing for those who simply miss the measurement of time. My mouth is stained red, but my mind is enveloped in tones of blue, no longer
I had always been plagued with the question,
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