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My time goes. It goes.
My time goes to the European continent only to swing back around like a boomerang. My time goes into fulfilling small, every day goals. I leave the house, I go to the park, I go to the store, I talk to one person or more, I come home. My time has been swallowed by the living room couch and I will never get it back from the monster’s belly. I spend a lot of my time acting like a monkey. Food is the only thing I think about. My subconscious likes to press rewind so often my time doesn’t know up from down, two years ago from now. My time likes to hide in perfume bottles. Time draws up plans for surprise attacks and acts them out successfully at least once a month. My time is only ever spent on the big picture. I spend a lot of time in space. My time goes on trips to California. I am always losing time, and then I have to go out into searching among crowds and calling its name out.
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