they're spilling out. my views and perspective.
right now. you are hearing words so unequivocally me I could have written them myself.
these...this...is me. this is me all the time. except it's a fake, spurious imitation.
I cannot stand to listen to this, especially trapped in here when I know what's outside.
Everything I think, everything I feel, everything I see--all of it is being thrown on you this very second.
But you have no idea.
And you will only grab onto a tiny piece or two.
As hard as this was for me, I genuinely hope that someday these small pieces will flourish into full, genuine capacity for you.
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