4/28/11
Space
Sometimes you look back and feel pains that were hidden from you, and your face becomes soiled and hard to bear while hers is warm and glowing, but you know that no one's good, and no one will ever be who you want them to be, and then her face takes on yours, and the only good memory left is the one of your dead dog.
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Written two days before I left California. I've been lost ever since.
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