There are no secrets. There is only the illusion of silence, the desperate hope that whispers will never find ears, that shadows will not learn to speak. But they do. They always do. The walls are not walls; they are teeth, grinding down the weight of unsaid things. Time does not forget-it hoards. Every lie, every buried thought, every scream swallowed instead of snug, packed away like dynamite under floorboards of reality, waiting. Because nothing stays hidden. Not forever. That I am….. The Naked Thruster.
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