The procrastinator. It’s far too easy to hide behind abundant distractions and coyly whittle away at the hours with hollow preamble these days. Trade one uphill battle for another. Old injuries strain deep as my hunched shoulders and neck, slightly askew, peer forth awaiting just one word, a solitary notification: Am I alone? Is someone there? Tongue to teeth; feet curled beneath a finely crafted adjustable chair; time, seemingly irrelevant: this is my black hole. I am lost to possibility; equally terrified and delighted. Figure your life out.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
