It's stitched together, it's stuck together, it's forced? together
It doesn't make much sense, but really, what does? Not me, not my thoughts. Not you, not your actions.
You cram inside and hope you'll find room. Can't you think?
feel?
see?
relate?
I want it new. Is this the same? I wonder if you can still call
this beauty. . .
me
I've always been terrible with thethese endings and goodbyes.
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