The to-do list turns hoarse from yelling at you about the things you are ignoring, you spend your days staring into the sunlight and thinking of spring as a metaphor. Come sunset, he picks you up on 14th street and you careen into the mountains, the winding paths more familiar to you by the day, the sounds of the forest when you leave the window open at night. How are we meant to work when there is life to be lived? You cannot make the math come together.
And you're not sure you want to,
anyway.
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