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I'm watching this home-video of you from when I was a kid, and I'm looking at your face. Your face is tired and worn. You can't even hear me. I'm sitting right next to you, and you can't hear me. Your mind is gone, and you don't care. Because inside there, everything's great. You didn't have to deal with all of my stories, or help me with math homework, or play Barbies with me. Someone else did all of that for you, because you were too busy in there. You were too busy passing out on the toilet. You were too busy telling me to go away. You were too busy watching your favorites shows. I used to wonder what was so fucking good in there. Was it all rainbows and unicorns? Were there brilliant stars in the sky, or mountainous waterfalls in some tropical rain forest? Did everyone have chocolates and ice cream cones? What was going on in there that was so much better than what was out here? And then I found out, you fucking roach. I found out what it was all for. I found out what you thought was so good, and so worth it. I found out what you gave me up for. I found out what was in there. Nothing. |
| This is mine, and I am going to construct it efficiently. I will not just glue the sides together; I plan to nail them. I plan for them to never part. That it the most important step, of course. Without those walls, how can I even begin to place the window panes? |
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There is something utterly romantic in the way that galaxies collide. Something about the semblance, something about the reciprocal action. The way they bend together, the way they entwine. It's something about how lucid the chaos appears, but how labyrinthine it truly is up close. There is something so idyllic in the epoch of the metamorphosis. Something about the near-misses, and the proximity. The way gravity extracts one body, and insists on its synergy with another. It's something about how this maelstrom has the ability to lay the egg that is a star. |
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So my bricks fell, and my windows busted inward. I took a can of diesel fuel and I sprinkled it all around the inside. And then I flicked that match, and I dropped it. I can't decide which is worse; dying by flame, or while begging for warmth. I'll be fine once I get it. I'll be good. |
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This is so special to me. And I love you for letting me have it. |