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If you knew my story word for word/had all of my history

May 28, 2015

some time more, and may will turn to june, the nights and days increasing in unbearable cold. if i had any wisdom to impart, perhaps i would say that it is better to acknowledge than repress, to accept tension rather than numb it away.

on my bed i dream of travels and countries i use to wander to, and think maybe i can revisit them one last time, before the teetering crumbling walls crush utterly around me and i will be forced to confront a new world, the terrifying adventure of lives instead of lands and bondage instead of independence. but paul said it right when he told us we’re slaves either to one or another. we’re never our own.

no more will be the exhilarating trepidation with which i embark on my own two feet; when children come my fortitude will manifest in stocking chocolate and bandaids and staying back to let these fragile things fly. but these days are far away and meanwhile my lungs continue to inhale, and exhale, and i whiff the fragrance of mushrooms rising up my nose. it makes me think of vomit.

can romance be found in the larder, the settling of garlic and shallots, the sizzles of a chicken in the pan? is it possible to be existential about dough?

Would you go along with someone like me

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