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bigger house. better paying job.

A few years removed.  Bigger house.  Better paying job.  Even another child.  Yet wrinkles and crinkles and catasotrophic caveats that stifle the full pleasure of success as you’d once defined makes you question and beckon and long for less.  Less of the long and dead stares that happen when we are conditioned to nod and say I’m good and you.  You are not good too.  Numb just like myself who still has moments of believing there might just be life before death.  First death of boredom and detachment and half dressed approval where we all drink our own concoctions of what we know best, a tick and a tock away from never feeling alive again but this is what we bargained for – illusion of safe where no one really knows what we think because we dont know ourselves. Opinions running rampant with no beginning and no end.  But nothing to set us apart from the crowd because it is scary to be alone.  We’ll flock and find our same and step in pace with what’s to be until time stops like we never saw it going.

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