The trials of

I wake up and the first person I thank about is ⌧⌧⌧⌧⌧. It’s the same person I always wake up and think about.

Throughout the day, my thoughts go to ⌧⌧⌧⌧⌧.  It’s not on purpose. It’s the way it is. I see on the street, and I’m throw in a time machine to times. It’s not real. I’m quickly ambushed back to reality.

I wonder if ⌧⌧⌧⌧⌧ knows. I wonder what ⌧⌧⌧⌧⌧ thinks and feels. I’m not entitled to know, I’m just entitled to , though I worry I’m not even entitled to that.

Before I , I’m thinking about ⌧⌧⌧⌧⌧. It’s the same person I woke up thinking about.

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