Byron

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This was my routine. Go to class, stumble into inadequacy, float from room to room and building to building with the hopes that one of my steps might lead me somewhere more meaningfully defined. I was still waiting, still finding no results. There was a permeating doubt at the back of my head wriggling in my mother’s voice: What are you going to do with your future?
Byron
Well this is uncomfortably familiar
Voice Like a Hyacinth
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