Fifty two

Part two

Silence.

Cold nothing.

Nothing, left or ever really there, but the solitary wisp of…bollocks.

Cheer up you miserable git, no need for moping…who gives a flying squirrel about so much of nothing?  Nothing worth fussing over or worrying about, just a thing, as time and effort that makes no more sense than any other.  No worse or better, the same and little different from anyone.

So carry on and keep on trying…but for now, as ever…its a no.

R

 

 

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