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i remember how i used to keep track of time.

about how i felt the transition of days from nights, and afternoons to evenings.
i remember feeling free in the afternoons, and chill in the evenings.
i have vivid memories of myself and any of my relatives when we would go places in the mornings, and then go home in the afternoons.
i remember feeling ridiculously exhausted by then. exhausted, but adventurous.

i look then to myself now.

about how i look at my watch every now and then to check the time.
about how i only come about to feel nothing else but hollowness.
about how time feels like paint constantly smudged and pressed recklessly across a canvas.
about how time only feels like a number now – something i only constantly have to chase.
about how i cannot feel the transition between days from nights, and afternoons from evenings anymore.

have i gone to that path where emptiness is evident?
or is this really just what happens when you’re growing up?

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