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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1930 | 2024-02-13 01:16:55 | 114.70 | 96.3% |
| 747 | 2024-02-05 22:22:48 | 124.43 | 98.4% |