Frustration wells up in the pits of stomach and I shake my head wildly from side to side. Maybe, just maybe, if I shake vigorously enough, memories will spill out and vapourise in the cool morning air; condense into nothing more than water droplets on sparkling, brittle glass. Alas, condensation is but a hopeless hope. (Oh what an oxymoron)
That stupid green shirt is still there.
Dang.
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