I wonder if I can write this history, or if on every page there will be some sneaking show of a bitterness I thought long dead. I think myself cured of all spite, but when I touch pen to paper, the hurt of a boy bleeds out with the sea-spawned ink, until I suspect each carefully formed black letter scabs over some ancient scarlet wound.
Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
---|---|---|---|
18580 | 2024-05-03 12:17:22 | 98.58 | 99% |
17803 | 2024-03-04 02:06:15 | 90.70 | 96.3% |