from the looks of it, i didn't learn my lesson.
i don't know why i'm doing what i'm doing, or who i'm doing for. i'm throwing rocks down the well, hoping that the water would rise out of the hole, but it doesn't make sense. reality is mocking at me, its minions have gathered around me to look at their opus. i am the tin woodman, and i want to return to fiction.
expectations breed disappointment; one more time, and i would have to carve it somewhere.
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