And in that microsecond that he finds himself suspended in the air, between the ecstasy of being aloft and the anticipation of his landing, which he knows will be terrible, he knows that x will always equal x, no matter what he does, or how many years he moves away from the monastery, from Brother Luke, no matter how hard he tries to forget.
The world jerks blessedly away from beneath him: x=x, he thinks. x=x, x=x.
— Aug 15, 2022 02:51PM
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