there can be a hundred reasons.
i just wished i was that one.
you're moving so slowly,
if you're moving at all.
i'm tired of waiting,
but can do nothing more.
perhaps we're both unsure,
or perhaps i got it wrong.
but your minuscule actions -
they get me killed.
you're here, there,
you're everywhere.
gets on my nerves sometimes.
yet perhaps tis' just an excuse for my melancholic indulgence, which makes me feel alive.
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