Wouldn't it have been nice to come to a standstill in a better place? This bleak landscape of dust, dirty dishes and mountains of junk is no place to live. Yet I cannot leave it. I'm not a pendulum swinging now, I'm a weight of boredom. This could be it, for ever after, with rarely a smile or laugh. Just sitting, waiting.
Is it still waiting if there is nothing to come?
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