I ate more hair dye and conditioner grease than I would have liked and sometimes it feels as though it is all but a dream. As if it were but a dream. I forget the line I once had memorized, affixed to my back pocket. Will I ever feel so safe and secure again? Was I even then? It’s hard to remember such a shattered reality, except in excerpts around which there is no discernible context, other than pain, the kind we never speak of as it makes everyone uncomfortable.

Everyone, barring one, of course, that person you never meet who understands your every flaw and forgives you because it’s all that matters, in the end or ultimately are not one in the same. I compare myself to everyone and nothing at the same time. I am left with this cracked shell of broken piece of an inked in soul, blotted out by lack of light, distracted by distrust, a necessary outcome after all that has passed.

And still occurs. It is the fear that ultimately destroys, in the end, as it was in the beginning. The circular rhythm and flow are disconcerting when all you want is a straight line. Never knowing how much time you have left is something that we never get over. The world around you collapses and re-emerges, like a cocoon, like an imprisoned shelf where all that’s lost gets gathered again.

And if i knew, would I change a thing?

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