SMOTHER If I could only smother myself in nostalgia, never clean myself from my memory's sludge. Everything in the past is far brighter than it was in the present. Everything in the past represents everything I was. Everything, always, always, always. Youth is wasted on the young. Will I expire looking back? I wish I could look forward. The present rots and erodes at my feet. I want to jump from the cliff it creates.
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