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Alone in the Dark

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You sit with bated breath in a room of your own desperation, staring at the wall and counting the number of fibers in the windowpanes.

You’ve been here for a while. There’s a wispy scent in the room—one you can’t place, reminiscent of cedar.

And you wonder, wonder if it was different, that. . . maybe it would be better.

It would have been 3 years ago today.

But this is the present, or maybe the future, and you can’t find it within yourself to care as you drift quietly back into a desolate, whispery haze.





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