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There’s a dark patch in my soul.

A spot reserved only for the call to run.

Sometimes I hate it. That little spot.

Lingering there, making me dissatisfied.


A constant reminder that in the end, I am completely and entirely alone.

A dark temptation to isolate myself, cut the people that ask questions from my conscience. Lock the doors of my bedroom and lose myself in the chaos of my own mind.

To forget the now, to forget the then and bury myself in the semantic reality of ideas, of null and void reality.

It’s also a call to adventure.

Like a call to prayer, a call to pilgrim. I cannot say no.

A burn for the horizon, to chase the setting sun until I no longer see night.

To forget my life as a child of the moon and lose myself to the cries of the sea.

A silent torture that I cannot give up.

A slave to my on expectations, my own desire.

Twenty one was a good one.

But welcome twenty two, I have been expecting you.


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