-𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎, 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝙼𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙸𝚗𝚔 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎. 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜, 𝙸 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

[haze-was-thinking]

+|𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙾|+

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚢, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚞𝚗.

ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ, ʜᴀᴢᴇ.

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔸𝕔𝕥…

𝙾𝚑, 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝—

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕— 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗?

𝙶𝚘 𝚊𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍—𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍.

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

[haze-was-thinking]

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕪…

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝— 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌, 𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜— 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎— 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞— 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎— 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚂𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜—

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚝.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜— — 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚢𝚎𝚝.

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞— 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚝.

𝚂𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢.

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎.

𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢.

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕆𝕟 𝕊𝕟𝕠𝕨…

𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝, 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍. 𝙰 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚎𝚜—𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐—𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙽𝚘𝚠, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚃𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝—𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙾𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛, 𝙰𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎.

𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜, 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚏𝚝. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚍, 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 “𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗” 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎.

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝’𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕟…

“𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗?” “𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗.”

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕍𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟’𝕤 𝕃𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖…

“𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛, 𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜— 𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗’𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠, 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗, 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜— 𝙰 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚜. 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠, 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚍. 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎, 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜— 𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛. 𝙳𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚢? 𝙳𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎? 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚢, 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜— 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎. 𝚂𝚘 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎, 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢’𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎— 𝙸𝚏 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛, 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚍.”

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

“𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 ℕ𝕠 𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝔸𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕”

“𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎? 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚒𝚝— 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚢𝚖𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚑, 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍.

𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎? 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏—𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜. 𝙴𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚔𝚢. 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎; 𝙸 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎.

𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍? 𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚢—𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕.

𝙳𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎? 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘’𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠— 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝙸 𝚊𝚜𝚔: 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎? 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝙾𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛?”

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

𝕋𝕨𝕠 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕚𝕟…

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜, 𝚊 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎—𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎, 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚒𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑. 𝚈𝚎𝚝, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑, 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎.

𝙸𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚢𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗, 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚟𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎. 𝚈𝚎𝚝, 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚜, 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎, 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎. 𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎— 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚒𝚗.

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

-𝕎𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖-

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚋 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝙰 𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜, 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚎, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝, 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝙰 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜, 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝙰 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝, 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝙰 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚢, 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍, 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚕𝚢. -𝚂𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎, 𝙸𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙰 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚡 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎, 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎, 𝙸 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

-𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚗.

[haze-was-thinking]

[haze-was-thinking]

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