This is the last time.

An ideal voyage into the night would include wearing comfortable oversized tees in an air-conditioned room, accompanied not by the humming of mosquitos but by the continuous assurance that this is what living should be — unmended yet forthgoing and also occasionally lovely, especially when tinged by the possibility of learning and love and losing, but gaining through losing. I am, at age 22, less optimistic than when I was younger and in a way I am looking to redeem this spoilt pre-earned bitterness by learning to trust even with falling; it is in my self-interest to learn to be kind and to teach and see the world with new eyes, to not be vacant but instead to fill fill fill myself up with this troubling yet rich type of beauty.


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