Things that seem to remain a Constant in my state of existence.

The poetry book from the library that travels with from my room and to my home-home. I always mean to return it, but I always forget.

The various school things I keep meaning to return in the mail, but keep ignoring them.

My memory fading in and out of dependability. I ought to get a planner, but I keep trying to talk myself into believing that my mind can remember all these things that I can count on forgetting.

Heart squelches from music, people, and otherwise.

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