Long Nights
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Long nights, short days, stones in the path wounding the soles of your feet; you run, scream, and flee. Routine drains your energy; little by little, sadness crowds out the joy. Nothing new—just another blank day. I hate this morning boredom. My inner night owl tries to emerge—look at that gaze—and it’s possible to observe the world more clearly. I’ve become neurodivergent: a striking physique with a sick mind.
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