the indescribable sorrow of walking down three flights of stairs just to see the bus accelerating away. the shame of the climb. each step, each riser, calling out in mocking tones as you ascend once more, not in victory but in sheer, agonizing defeat. the soft jingle of the keys, now stowed in your pocket as you make your way back down yet again, a constant reminder of the journey to come. the child is quick to remind you that the blame lies on your head alone

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the q u i n n t e r n e t

the q u i n n t e r n e t is the personal mastodon instance of quinn darling. styling is a work in progress