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That Thing That One Summer

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another note to remind myself that
these feelings don't have to reside in me.
they don't have to bury themselves.
build a home using
my misery
my lonely
my wish to let go,
but my need to hold on.
If i let this slip,
if i remember to forget,
then suddenly it isn't real anymore.
suddenly this memory will become
a daydream.
and i won't know it.
I'm already beginning to loose sight
of what i remember.
In it's place fills the deepening hatred
of the world that has so graciously
invited me to try it out.
a hatred of all the reasons
that I lay on the floor
and stare at the ceiling.
the reasons I lack the motivation to
do anything.
anything at all.
the reasons I tell myself every morning that
waking up might not be so bad today,
even though my alarm clock tells me
it will.
There are so many places in my own head
that I have tried to avoid.
and when i succumb to my curiosity
I can't find my way out.
I get lost in the dim room.
I try to remember how to open the shades
as they collect dust.
Once I finally think that I can feel
the end of my mind's personal pit,
and the soft earth beneath my fingertips,
which feels a lot like the material of your
favorite shirt,
I am sucked down by the gravitational pull
of your memory, and how little
I deserve to escape it.



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