It is late and that's cool.
My eyes are flaming with hope and it's so dark out I can't see my hands in front of my face.
I took a picture of me by the wall and it held me. The muted colors of the kitchen held me and I became a flower.
I swear I'm not tripping. I'm just tired and at this point inside words become outside words and I put them in the box and go to bed.
Yikes.
L
p.s. The kitchen is backwards.
p.p.s. I'm fine.
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