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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 331 | 2024-05-27 10:16:18 | 60.03 | 95.7% |
| 308 | 2024-05-05 22:54:58 | 60.53 | 96.3% |