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Etceteras
Getting a grip on a new camera, getting a feel for a new turn, an invisible accountant’s register of my life burdened miscellany. Forsake the last exit to redemption, embrace the bitter doubt of love, turn around as you fall, and it just might seem you’re flying away from the sky and up towards the ground. All that is left when you’re done living and no longer care, all that will happen when no one tallies the score, all the unending procession of etceteras that fill up the void.
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