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// there might be little way to burn off the energy, but it’ll come to me. maybe one day i’ll get my feet out the door and wear grooves into the streets. i’ll have a house full of greenery waiting for me when i come back. succulent gardens that i can put together and gift away when the new growth is ready.

// i sleep on my right, and that’s where the blood spots always are. my right foot is the one that always gets messed up first. my right hand has far more calluses than my left. a sign of hard work and self-support, or being ground done until there’s little of worth left?

// the older i get, the more i cut away the sweet things. coffee with less milk, less honey. tea, astringent and bitter. i don’t remember the last time i put sugar on any of my food.  (and yet, you need to make home-made pedialyte because you forget to drink too often.)

// the mental change from ‘pools are cleaner than the ocean’ to the opposite was gradual. you wouldn’t dream of setting foot in one any time soon. oceans, on the other hand. . .

// books are delicate things, constructs of paper, and yet they outlast a human, something with surprising strength and the ability to heal themself. and yet, the death of trees has far more impact in the grand scheme of things.

// you never truly touch anything else except your own atoms. even then, it’s questionable.

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