It has been all but a series of events. The usual act of recollection has been severely neglected. Tis but a scarcity of time, tis but a feeling of neglect. After all the reflections, I seem to be hitting homebase. After a homerun, I end up at square 1.
Time is a luxury, and I seem to be full of it. But after balancing all odds out, it seems i'm still vying for the idea that time can be made. People can never have enough.
There is only so much to be done, and not being to attend to everything makes me feel like an empty can, and I can never be full no matter how deranged everything can make me. Running around bases doesn't seem to make me content. Gee, humans. Another rationality fail.
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