asia doesn't dream of true love or the bottoms of bottles. or other unlimitless uknown things she used to fear. like the unknowable edges of the ocean. or the unmeaning of words. instead, she just pads around her flat in stained slippers. and hums along to unspun made up love songs. in her crazy-could-never-say-it-quite-yet-love-soaked-head. asia dreams of boots and the best fear she's ever known and the limitlessness of the ocean. and using too many esses and f-words and too much sex whenever time presents itself.

asia can't believe you care. and wants to sink skin into headphones until she realizes that it's exactly right, that until now, she didn't know at all what it felt like be alive.


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