February has proven itself to be a hectic month so far. Hands dry, a bruise on my arm, a slip in my pocket and a smile on my face seems to paint the perfect picture.
It seems as if the portrait is nearly ready to be hung on the wall, yet rather than depicting a ravishing duo, it reveals a young man by his lonesome, a compilation of letters laid out on the desk behind him. Yet this image of sadness is accented by the man's smiling face, a radiant glow blanketing himself and those around him.
For through the doubt and the dim he has stood strong. His validity has been renewed; his reason to smile, clear.
I am that man.
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