The hushed wall that refuses to let but whispers pass through the miniscule cracks from its top to its bottom. The whispers swirl, mix, making it harder to hear the distinct words, the formed sounds more akin to the lull of instruments as they tune before their opening night.
It makes it hard you know,
it makes it really hard
to think
to differentiate
between one thought and the next thought and the next and the next.
Between one feeling and the next.
--P.A.
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