| You’ll be uncomfortable 40 percent of the time
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| When you open the gates of adulthood
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| A fair warning, dare I question its accuracy?
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| But still, there was much I wasn’t told
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| And much that wasn’t explained
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| I decided to venture out seeking answers
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| I went to a professional
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| «Can you pinpoint the origin of my anxiety?»
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| The doctor pulled out a map
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| I studied it, and there I saw:
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| Envy, bitterness, love, nostalgia, confusion, guilt, and desire
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| All illuminated like neon on the perimeters of a bustling thoroughfare
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| Soliciting my neurons for their patronage
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| Buzzing and pregnant with emotional potential
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| Ships docking harbors like thoughts approaching the threshold of perception
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| Towns of rapid traffic synapse intersections
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| Forests of dense cranial arbors
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| I continued studying the map
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| «It's here»
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| The doctor pointed to an empty patch
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| There was one road leading out to an empty patch
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| It didn’t dead end but just sort of disappeared in isolation
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| «Right here?»
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| I surveyed the space with my finger
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| The doctor nodded gravely
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| «I'll leave you with the map for a moment,» he said
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| Then gathered his instruments and neatly exited the room
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| I traced the path of the disappearing road until it was no longer a road
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| Tapping with my finger on what I decided was the threshold of the road’s
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| existence
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| I stated, «It is here where I will retire» |