| time out here moves like hot molasses like melted ice like race-winning tortoises | and if time is memory then memory slips away like a ferret through a crack like a worm on a hook | and if my thoughts make me who I am then I'm the Milky Way in Boston phosphorescence at noon the new moon |
 | and yet despite all that every moment here or there is just as poignant as the last every second is all that I will ever have |
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