On the precipice of marriage at 35, I have become more reflective of a life that had for a long period been lived sincerely with an understanding that I might die.
Days, by their nature, are numbered. This is mere fact.
Life where any outward projection feels suffocated by sheets of meaningless distorting noise necessitates at some point that that same energy turn inward. I brood; I roil in my juices.
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