Three … two … one

The night rolls on and on in this blanket of darkness, shrouding my thoughts in a thick coat of black that no light can pierce through. I play out a half a dozen fantasies, rehearsing my lines aloud yet each one ends with the exact same figure as five years past. Forever fifteen, sometimes seventeen, and once upon another time I was somewhere in between.

Come again, and once more we are tossing broken dreams like shattered glass across this crowded room. The aftermath is a contest of nerves versus mind. My fingers bleed from the pressure, yet I return to play in this ring of fire. This game is a state of being that I cannot relinquish.

He does not exist … when will I learn.

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