So there’s this guy who was so angry about his break up with his girlfriend so one day he woke up and decided to go to the beach at 3am in the morning to burn all the stuff she had given him, sort of like a closure ritual. It didn’t go very well. There were all kinds of things to be burned, not all of it flammable. So he took a can of gasoline from his garage and proceeded to the utmost corner of the beach. He was alone. He poured gasoline on a box filled with his memories. There were shirts, photos, bus tickets, and all of those little things he thought he shouldn’t have kept.  He wasn’t really good at burning things and he poured an excess of gasoline.

The things went up in flames quickly. The smoke was black, blacker than the night. He was in a really, really bad position. the strong sea breeze was blowing his way. Before he knows it, he was engulfed in black smoke and he was inhaling it like it was supper. His eyes teared up and he couldn’t run away. He tried, but he collapsed in the process. Some things in the box was just not meant to be burned.

Guess who was there taking a midnight stroll with her new boyfriend and saw him lying on the ground?

That’s right. Nobody. He woke up the next morning with sand in his mouth.

He spends waaaaaaaaay too much time on this, but he finds joy in nothing else. Go easy on him.
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