Ate the berry that killed my heart ..
and yet I never stopped loving,
Drank the poison that killed my brain
so why can't I stop thinking?
I am what I do. My soul, not innate but earned, is but a pen inking stains on the paper of time.
Note: often wonder why I did something, while it doesn't seem to be logical nor does it seem to fit my character, but existential questions aside ... I guess I am what I do, regardless of what I feel or think.
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