Something's amiss. A trajectory, the dotted line from point A to point B, you can almost see it if you squint. And yet. You know it was chaos. No B just loops and failures. Launches after launches. A repetitive game of who misses whom.
Where are you? I chaosed through the skies.
Hold my hand. My fingers numb for I have tried not to move for so long, my sheets now feel like that blanket I used to pull to my nose, down in the mountains of childhood.
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