In the wake of failure Aloysius retreated to the grey lands of the sea. Content in the ever endless shore and sky that wallowed together in the sea. Some darks we always with him like a fluid his innards could not filter free. All nagging and everywhere like damp in sea spray the water was like his emotion. Ephemeral and untrustworthy he couldn't hold it or move it. It was anger that one was easy, depression was a friend. No this was worry the sickly one that ruined even the moments you know were OK. Doubt the wriggling squirm of chaos in order well set forth.
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