Trudging along to the beat of trial and error, the sweat and toil of forced experience, he raises one slender hand in protest. Silently, silently lashing out. Passively, passively calling it the wrong name. To wit: gracious.
No, no! It cannot be received. No validation where there is a deliberate skipped beat, a mistake that is not a mistake, a miss that cannot be perceived as an accident - no.
Crass and humorless. An intentional injury of reputation only, but the trial and error system cannot fail; it can only be counted as an error - a door to another trial. There is no failure inside the system; only a benevolent, albeit vicious circle.
I've erred. I discounted your thoughts, rejected your theory because of the name slapped harshly on your chest, paired with twelve years of subconscious judgement. I've attempted to strip my brain of this tag, and now I'm left with a cold counter-top of expectation.
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