It was like the years before, with hands tied against the trees and the street lamps extinguishing on rhythmic dots, had never happened.
Thinking on the plank, he maintained his superb sense of balance with the wind whistling through his ears.
He cooed a gentle lullaby to his own injured mind and massaged the acid out of his tender joints. It was a few too many electrical shocks to the gut over and over again. He was losing skin now and again.
Thicker and unstable and musical, his mouth didn't remember how to not smile or say anything other than fine.
He was improperly perfect at potently saying nothing at all.
He saw the shady sunrise and she tried to remind of the light. He was so used to the night.
Despite his best efforts, he would be alright.
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