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Diaryland

I save up all my sadness for the quiet of night, and if I don't get any small pieces of comfort from the universe I sit here and leak all over myself.

That's a lie I guess. I get small pieces. Little bits, a moment of dancing together in the kitchen, a parsed sentence that seemed to include me in his future, catching him record my reactions out of the corner of my eye. Tiny slices of hope, something to cling onto, but nothing solid, and nothing to go to sleep wrapped around.

So I sit here and leak, for all that I've lost in my life and the aching black hole that sucks the happiness out of those little things because I am so god damned mother fucking alone. So separated, and always have been, from the antiseptic removal to the solitary nights. Sometimes I convince myself that I want that, the loner, the rebel. I don't though. I want what I had for so little a time in my life, the love, the warmth, the fucking "it'll all be ok, come lie with me" lie. And by the end of the day when I'm actually alone again that bubbles up to the surface. YaY!

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