J: Your cracking fingers sprawl across your mother's kitchen tablecloth like all the paths you had to pave, when you were young. When you were my age. I once found comfort in whispering on my knees, I believed every locked door had a perfect fitting key, but perceived, as I advanced through this hallway these doors remain shut. Before my hope can speak a voice interrupts, "Life is but a timeline, an abstraction of feeling a glass room beneath god with an unbreakable ceiling. Simplified existence leave no lives contrasting: living, breathing, living, breathing, gasping."
Justin: I clench my fists and teeth, my footsteps make a beat... I scream my insecurity, even I am unsure of me.
...And what is another person in a sea of so many? I am alone, and I am afraid.
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