In the midst of all the frenzy and the stress, I can’t help but yearn for mindless procrastination which I satisfy too eagerly, like a mummy bird feeding its young. And at other times I stare at lines of text and figures until the blue on white blur into a jumble of indistinct colour, which I hardly even notice, whilst thinking of moments past. I think of sweet memories, they always come back with sweeter, like they were ripening in my mind, all the negative emotions lost in time. I pull out memories of dreams, sleepily forgotten as the day goes on, sometimes thinking how bizarre they were, sometimes thinking of how I wish they were real, and how real it felt in the depths of slumber, and sometimes at the edge of wakefulness and dreaming, I recall how it actually was a memory.



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