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Fragmented Self who wanders through life like a dreamer and wades through the river of dreams as though it were the only truth left in this world
These Mornings
My mouth tastes like cat poop when I don't brush my teeth enough. I can tell they are growing more yellow and dull but I don't care enough to fix that.

Foosh.

I hate keeping secrets. They are just as stressful as telling the truth because you worry the entire time about how long it will go on and you'll carry the burden of it alone. You alone carry the burden of knowing and replaying the reactions over and over in your mind. When it all plays out, at least you have the relief of it being over. Yes, you have the terrible memory and dealing with the truth but it doesn't go on for an indefinate time. You are not sick with worry and trapped in the unknown.

I am trapped.

Even in my running away from being trapped, I am the fox in the cage. I am no free soul and I don't think I could ever be. I cannot image a life of being free. I cannot image a life where dreams come true because I don't have any real dreams. My dreams are the things of vapors and whispers. They are fleeting as the wind or the rain.

Sometimes I dream of a love that I could hold. I dream of it being Axel or Silleh. I think of the wonderful little things we could do to each other. In my lonely nights, I call out to them and talk to them. Though they are not here with me, we have invisible conversations. I pretend we are lovers and it is comforting enough, for now.





 
 
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