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 |
---|---|---|---|
4630 | 2024-02-23 15:32:47 | 72.83 | 95% |
4517 | 2024-02-21 13:13:28 | 65.49 | 94% |