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How bleak the day when I know not your ever-longed-for face.
You sleep now, and I later, with no sense knowing we’re one
disease/incurable danger away from disconnection of our minds.

I transfix gaze, like on scene played out by actors, to these uncertain fingers.
Their idea of slowing down is allowing me to catch up with what they wish to say;
how foolish to let the horse pull the cart without a driver awake at the reigns.  Did
you remember to feed the cats?– Of course you did; always do!  I just wanted to
make sure.

I repeat the same actions
Why, God?

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