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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 332 | 2024-06-12 13:33:40 | 37.39 | 91.8% |
| 94 | 2024-05-27 16:51:15 | 51.26 | 94.4% |