I keep thinking about how much I want to kiss this guy again. It’s nice when they’re good kissers.
I want to be conscious of the fact that I am a living metaphor, rather than the daily unconscious knowledge of every metaphor around us. We are metaphors. Plain and simple. Comforting.
I feel relieved, and like I’m leaving crazyville and getting back to normal.
At the thought of losing nothing that meant something.
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