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 |
---|---|---|---|
100 | 2024-03-20 10:55:51 | 56.41 | 95.7% |
28 | 2024-03-07 11:04:30 | 57.20 | 94.7% |