so much of my life, these days, is a mystery. and when i read your words. smell the ink of your pen, as if it holds the secret to the universe, like the damp dark scent of your hairline. i sometimes feel like i might be able to slow down. a little. stop for a second. open all the windows and doors. and not scream and scream this madness. out. with so much of you filling me in.


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