Ludonarrative dissonance

And the beat goes on ta-da dum da-dum da-dum, ts-tsh...

The agony of waiting continues to tickle my senses, long roads of crooked nothings, heartbeats with every step, marked by paved roads of quaint yesterdays, of bygone times and people we have not known. Murders of pigeon flock the crowd, swooping in for the prize, but only the suicidal ones get to choose victory over complacencies. Octogenarians making progress with each step into ensuring lives were well-lived, and younglings smacking each other's posteriors trotting along with little concern then and there to prove that there is no more place here for the eld.

These are my day-to-days while awaiting confirmation from a lady of no reprieve to show up, smiles drawn, sass worn, and beauty no longer imagined. Time is running thin, and time and time again. Mayhap it was never meant to be.

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