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So it goes.

Carry on, carry on...

"I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today." (James Joyce)

Excuses, excuses.

Vasovagal syncope.

HoppĂ­polla.

You've got to learn to love the ebb just like the flow.

Honour pricks me on.

I'm not crying, it's just been raining on my face.

This is the sound of settling.

My eyelashes catch my sweat.