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Anything but this, John thinks miserably, stirring golden syrup into his porridge, the slow, long degradation into disgusting mediocrity. It has been days since he has felt even the faintest flicker of hope. His life circumnavigates tragedy, simply by trudging on and on, alone. Without end and with no discernible meaning.
He can no longer claim to
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i'm all in tears now.
this was too unexpected.
however, thank you for the fic, it was wonderful and painful.
i'd really like to read more of your stuff.
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