34: I have a feeling of comfort in disruption. One point of a number that overtake me in my way —
Together, you and I defined arcs of ironic repentance but in a series of affable disputes. Just so, we’re still at a loss. Loss of shame, loss of grief. A salve can heal, yet not wind smudging our wounds into rotten smoke. Why?

It’s not enough I lose, I’m scared; ah, no relief as such. I won’t travel well, off through clouds. I have your brave face but shedding dry tears, breaking promises, breaking me.