The tragic denouement

It’s ended, I tell X, it’s all finished, once again. It’s swallowed me up, covered me with soil, I’m done. This is it, the third act, when the gun comes out, it’s the tragic denouement, every time I wake up. How do people figure out how to live, I ask him, where do they get the energy? But of course you wouldn’t know, let alone be able to tell me, I say.

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