some days and nights i treat my apartment like a therapist. walking up and down the long hallway, or quietly fidgeting on the lounge, voicing all of my thoughts and problems, my questioning of the universe and why it is the way it is. i’ll laugh and i’ll cry and i’ll crack open my chest and lay everything out, spilling out every part of me saying here it all is. but my voice just echoes back at me saying honey there’s no one here we have to put this back together ourselves.

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