I did it again.
After, how long? Four months? Five months? A year?
It isn't even the thrill - there is no thrill. It means nothing, the act - it is a means to an end. I don't know that I regret the means, and that worries me.
God preserve me from ever enjoying it.
I found the music books, unexpected.
I should be happy.
All I am is worried.
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