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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 307 | 2024-08-06 18:48:16 | 54.01 | 94.4% |
| 221 | 2024-07-19 16:53:38 | 48.93 | 92.8% |