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Sunday, 15 June 2014

0 Fragments and fragments

My life of late is like knowing there’s a full moon, breathtaking and glorious, hanging overhead and then there’s me, looking at the ground all the time.

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"No, I don't think my parents will worry if I told them I'm no longer interested in life."

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I have so many things to say to you and you and you and you. But I don’t think you could bear them so I leave them be; I let them grow on my tongue. This, I believe, is the first sign of my heavy, festering silence.


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I sang, "Honey, honey," and I wonder if you knew that that was you.

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I hate talking about love because it embarrasses me. I hate writing about love because the idea scares me. This is the paradox I’ve been living with. If love has a face, it is a face I have drawn on a paper in the dark. I have not seen it and I don't want to see it.

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I lied. I don’t hate people. I’m cruising on a whole different spectrum miles and miles away from all of the misanthropes on this planet. Talk to me and you’ll see how I’ll trip over my own feet to please anyone, anyone.

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Your feelings today, my dear, oh. Like feral beasts huffing and pawing on the pages of books you now keep behind your romance novels. You were young then, you believed in more than six impossible things before breakfast then. The first snarl saw your feet disappeared under the covers as if the act alone would save you from their sharp teeth. Now you are wondering if the teeth would kill you … or save you.

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I just want to stay this sad all the time because it doesn’t take any effort at all.

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Baby, don’t worry about your life, it’ll be all right, is all I wanted to say but you huffed and huffed and honestly it didn’t take me long to think, I’ll let you figure out this thing on your own because you gotta learn.

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"From east you walk into the room, mimicking the sun. I am already sitting, looking west. There is a north between us but the south is louder. And I believe we will never get past this."

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"It’s okay to live an unexciting life."

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I dunno why we always choose to argue in the car. I dunno why we always argue in the car. I remember how good things seemed to be when we had those mountains and a sea between us.

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I actually said this to Mum, "I bought that because I need to take up a new hobby. I don't want to go mad. I don't want to feel useless, worthless. Most of all, I don't want to stay mad at you."

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"I wonder, how does one love a sad person? You can't take the sadness away for it's already a part of them. How do—how can—you contend with that?"

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