Every time I remember, It makes me feel as though an intangible waste clings to my body, a sticky gunk of filth growing like mould on my skin the longer I dwell on the memory.

And all in the name of fulfilling that 'want', did cogitating on means became nothing but just an act of getting, an instinct of sorts that gave no thought to one's own well-being or possibly too much that it blinded.

I had it, that 'want', but I was never happy, sullied more like.
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Aug 17, 2014