"Words drip as I walk home. There is so much freedom in my little world within a tiny soap bubble. Universes are born here whenever I dream as I look far at the vague silhouette of the mountains far away. Walking alone on paths less taken, at the back of buildings where only the sunflowers see me, again, I look into myself, and I don't like what I see, but I love who I see. I hear strange sounds under the earth, little creatures whose worlds I little know about. For I am the zoologist by title, not by heart. My shell is freezing in the wind. The longer I am here in the open, the harder my shell gets, the more brittle it gets, the more breakable I get. For loneliness are like shrapnel in the cool wind, attacking me in the face. My blue sweater and gold shirt underneath, are futile now. So I must walk and accept each shrapnel of bitter loneliness that pierces my skin. As I bleed words dripping into the keypad of my old phone, I am hoping that I find warmth
somewhere in the recesses of my own universe."
I found these on my old notebook and cellhone tonight.
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