These are the shreds of my life. I can't make them reconcile, cohere. There is no Grand Narrative. Only side stories that veer off into little drains off the corners. Until everyone forgets what they were supposed to be about. No central theme. Only fragments of this thing. And that. I can't connect the threads. It's like I've had too much whisky, my love. Or too much wine.
I stopped knowing who I was a long time ago.
And I stopped caring.
So how does a life like this end?
How long till I stop pretending to care?
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