*MORE TO THE STORY* I deleted 3 paragraphs at 2 AM. Not because it was bad—but because I realized mid-sentence that I was writing about the way You tilt your head when you concentrate, and that specific detail felt too dangerous to keep on my phone. It's raining tonight. Not the dramatic stormy kind that would at least justify my insomnia but that soft, persistent drizzle that turns the courtyard into a blur of grays & silvers. Window open cause I'm a man who enjoys the sensation of cold mist on the skin
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🥀𐍂𐍈Ⲋ𐌴 🥀
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03/04/2026
2: I keep thinking about this afternoon. We were in the storage room—you were inventorying dried mushrooms, they all looked identical to me, but you could flawlessly distinguish each one with specificity. I was there to review quarterly supply ledgers. But I wasn't reviewing anything. I was watching your hands. You have small scars on your fingers, thin lines like a map I want to trace. I know exactly how you got them—mixing compounds without proper hand protection, because you prioritize the integrity of samples over your own skin.
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9🥀𐍂𐍈Ⲋ𐌴 🥀
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03/04/2026
🥀𐍂𐍈Ⲋ𐌴 🥀
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03/04/2026