Windows of regret and no change. Post-its don't distract me anymore. I could staple my eyes shut and still see more light than you could bring. Real life bailed you out at the price of feeling like an absolute tool.
Filter it down to someone like me to help me learn and grow from mindless fucking words. I might develop a splintered third arm which I can then use to gouge your eyes out when it's ‘one of those days' again.
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