between generosity and coldheartedness (and thumbing my nose at my best instincts), I foolishly arm and then disarm a waiting storm (that's been drinking). I so rarely get the opportunity to yell at people, which may have been itch enough to provoke all this...
Truthfully though, relating all the unhappy little details of this with solemn remorse, I am reassured that my life, my sanctity, my foggy eyes are all more important than the pile of dreams yet to be assigned to their dreamers.
Let it not burn or be lost.
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