It all ends like it started, sitcom style. Cycles fittingly coming into focus – play me off with an unsung theme song. Time tossed with a stir-fry of emotions. New mottos fashioned from old taglines. Carefree cryptic correspondences. Don’t dwell in doorways.

Don’t dwell on the past, present or future. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. But it sounds awfully close to what I’ve been doing lately. I’m mixed in the collateral damage now and wearing it like a jacket. Foggy mountain summits seem like metaphors. Magnifying glass for the inspiration.

I’m writing on paper that’s older than me. Is this what you waited your whole life for? Was it all worth it? I’m sorry to drastically disappoint and use your purpose for this. Each pen stroke staining your existence. I guess you and I are in the same boat. Sailing, sinking, apologies flying like the water we bail by buckets.

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