I learned to count incorrectly with confidence before correctly with a shy approach, so what makes you believe that mistakes are the end?
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existence within earth
PoetryPoetry in words of a mess, written throughout years of my teenage angst that continues. "Shall wisdom and hell be spoken when my ink turns into blood"
t h i r t e e n
I learned to count incorrectly with confidence before correctly with a shy approach, so what makes you believe that mistakes are the end?
