It's time for me to go home. No coffee, no expectations, just a pain that i'm used to. It's somewhere deep, i can barely see it. But it's there. Never fall in love with a writer. It will hurt. Confusion among all. No hope. No nothing.Everything's coming back, slowly but neverending. Don't know. Just tired. Wish you made me that coffee in the morning. At least, i would've had something. No one understands. Don't try. When you called me kiddo.
Stop. Go to work and then come home, would say my mom. I was worth it? I think i did. Then why? It doesn't matter anymore. I'll call my smart boy today. Maybe he'll understand, cause he's smart.
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