I have worn the same shirt for four days now. Or is it five? Time can be so mysterious. Who can understand the way it flows? So hard to pin it down to something as ephemeral as a few days.
Who can say when I'll wash this shirt, when I'll rinse the dirt?
Only time.
Enya should write a song for my shirt. You know actually, maybe for my deodorant instead. It works a lot harder.
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