I’m still here. Maybe I shouldn’t be. None the less I am. Here. Still.
More at home. When I should be moving.
More at home with who I am, rather than who I think I should be.
Am I?
Or is that just the constant dialogue I tell others? And myself.
I think I should be moving.
But I am not.
I think I should be alone.
But I am not.
I love him.
But I don’t know how to be alone.
I am stationary. But I should be moving.
I am better.
Better than I knew was possible.
But I am not right.
What is right?
Am I damaging myself?
Or everyone?
Or him?
Am I authentic?
With myself?
With anyone?

It feels like reality.
But maybe my reality is a facade.

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wandering, laughing, boycotting evil, environmentalism, puns, vegetarianism, writing, annoying whoever will stick around long enough, writing music, singing, innuendo, busking, snowboarding and awkward leaning are all things I'm either enjoying or attempting with varying degrees of success.

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