matter I do not.
Nothing I say matters. No tattoos I get will matter. In 100 years, all of it will be scrubbed clean by the sands of time. Unless my bones are tattooes. But then that’s only postponing the inevitable decay. All the words I type don’t matter to anyone but me. No one cares, and even if they pretend to, they don’t.
My thoughts are frivolous and childish.
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