I can see myself, sitting in a broken chair; too small for me.
An ancient sentient creature perching on the fringes of life; mulching through the tunnels of time.
Grumbling at every whim, occasionally muttering curses under my breath about the rain; the weather of emotions.
Barking and balking at each pass of the monsoon wind, I stoop frail and angry.
Defiance at the natural world, a miserable old coot I will become.
Erratic Behaviour
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