the absence of, noticed but unrecognized in the misty days, only highlighted by the warm windows of neighbors, hard to keep up, hard to fall behind, there is a constant drive of need that overrides the senses of selves that once resided here, identity is a hard drug to kick, created out of nothing, nurtured into being, given the reins, becomes, so ingrained as to appear as background noise, easy to sleep to, all an idea, it all sounds so familiar. comfort is destructive.........................
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