angry yesterdays.
expectations so dreamy lofty blue cream perfect. last summer... oh last summer and the incredulous giddy highs. I can conjure echoes of them, just. but in my real skin, my real-now-here self-- it's fear
brokenness. I don't want it to be that way. I don't try to hold on to it do I?
those todays are swimming. draining. me, wallowing. yes.
draft all the emails.
out line and word smith and
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