Socks, books, bags, pens, harmonicas, lingerie. Everything sorted to its rightful place. Copious amounts of coffee consumed for the sake of clinical cleanliness, for my own peace of mind. A spotlessness spree.
This is the part when I manically clean my room and imagine it makes a difference. Where logic roams, so does reason: however I try I will never get the kind of order I need in my life.
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