It is 2 a.m. and the thunder rumbles low in the distance. I hear the rain pour down, and my mind is enveloped in the late night conversations that save my dying vanity. I walked forty minutes in the storm earlier, and instead of reflecting on my past with you, I recall only wishing this trek would make me more sane.

Silhouettes of these fresh haunts follow me down York Street, and I cannot chase these shadows away. This game has no rule book, and I am but a pawn that prays to make it to the other side of the board. Lingering regrets and beautiful flashbacks trace my every breath, as though without you I cannot feel whole again.

Yet, an unearthly part of me senses this flawed sort of thinking and whisks it away. My head is fading to black, and the room continues to spin. A circular motion that parallels my moods, perpendicular to common reason.

Again, my world dissolves, and this time, I let it consume me whole.

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