He was the irregular puzzle piece. Yes. He fit in his spot so perfectly. He worked his pace carefully. But he. He was irregular. A shape to fit the spot, but a shade to miss the slot.
He. He was a boy, who made well so differently. He did things, less apathy. Shouldered pain helplessly. Saw his place aimlessly. He was a man. Now replaced by spot, still, he smiled you see. His shade of people wasn't what he could be. He fit his place no more. Now, is he free? Left to chase what he might be, what he could see. They set him free! They let him be! How could they?
He was old. Now worn and torn by times natural grime. He, he who no one believed, had made it nowhere. They had made it nowhere. The full scale view of the massive puzzle, spew what was thought a flaw in the mystery. The boy, then man, now old, his place. That was, here he was meant to be.
In the distant, look. The shade he never was, contrast what couldn't be seen. The different shade that he thought be. He was wrong. His place now rightfully, anothers. The clown of his people, he thought. Disgrace of his time, he thought. But he. He was wrong. Why? Why was he wrong? Let him see what he didn't. Because he didn't. He never did, never will. Realize, the worth he brought to, had he brought his worth in time. Now he's lost. His worth, a single dime.
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