It feels difficult to talk about. . . And why should I? Put my heart up for scrutiny on the internet?
I realised when I woke up this morning that this is (obviously) not art, , , and these years that I have been talking to you is nothing that I want to keep. It is a conversation, I suppose.
The kind of conversation where one person talks, and the other person (or people) shares nothing of them (in two cases).
The end product is trash. . . and for what?!
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