This is for the past. It has your name written all over it. The least I could do if not for myself, for my mother, is to get through the day one at a time.
Nights are longer. Sound of the clock ticking is so much louder. Breathing gets harder. Tears won't stop. Heartaches bite me in the middle of the night. Sand. Wall. Nights. It seeps.
It's time. To break it.
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