Rain arrives, cold air and gloom, for the first time since you don't know when you welcome it with open arms, light a candle that smells of old bookshops and hours without end. When you were a child, did you know time? Did you understand how it needles itself under your skin, breaks apart your luster, your ability to climb trees straight out from your window and veer down rabbitholes?
No.
And that's exactly the secret. They get you by eating away at the parts of your soul that thought time was a plaything, was a malleable clay, they tell you that each minute is weight its worth in coins and if you're not weighing it in coins it is worthless, this is how they get you.
So it turns out your ignorant youth was right all along. Burn the scales, burn the lessons in which they teach you fear, keep their parasites out of your blood stream.
Pay your rent, forget the rest. These trees were meant for climbing.
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