Tired

Sunday, post-cleanup. I removed the dust from my books, recalled some memories on how I got them, recalled some quirky acquisitions. I do not know if I could read the unread, tucked in some obscure corner, hidden away from plain sight, plane cite. puh-leyn site.

I dusted off my life and wiped away a pattern of depressive regurgitation and other unwanted melancholia.

You are tired, I can clearly see that, but so am I.

So. Am. I.

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