For all the beauty, for all the good in the world why do I sit here and punch keys with my fingers and tell the stories of a lonely girl with lonely dreams? Who are you to be remarkable? Who am I to not? Through monotonous complaints of monotonous days, there is nothing but go, go, go or stay, stay, stay. A dream may only be just that and never displace the actual. Yet, here in my files of knowledge, my actions, my functions, only dreams and imaginations escape the dust. Why am I here when I want to be there? I am held so tight against my will, wrapped in a blanket of fear and just out of reach of the new unknown. Plato's truths confound me yet I know them to be true. Where am I? Here. Not there, never there. Always here.
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