paragon

had this been our trade, a deliberant movement of that divinity – may it cradle your head in rest, as it does mine –
had you, from my inheritance been made the ruler of kingdoms and the lover of humankind,
still I would not do battle for it; my blade is drawn inward

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I didn’t think I cared for photography

And even my weakness, I despise for the wrong reasons. It’s not a question of whether or not it should be despised, in that I have made up my own mind, and each attempt to shake me from the familiar stranglehold is met with more than barred teeth. You don’t understand at all. Even for this, I fought.

For precious little, I fought.

The microcosmic narrative into which I waded, eventually escaping the chill of the air, for this I fought.

And I despise my weakness for other reasons.

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I faked out my philosophy professor

somehow I had forgotten that this was our last day living side by side, and that you’d return to the substance of pensive thoughts and late nights. A couple notes in a song that carried me to a place neither of us really inhabited. You know, as it was.

You don’t know, do you? But I promise, we had good moments together. Your presence, and I.

Still more real than what you’ve been to me recently. I blame myself.

I always blame myself.

I try to blame myself.

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on a sticky note

i sacrifice my own narrative, distrustful, kicking dirt across it like an image, obsolete – a bundle of theories and expectations that fade into lines and angles as a warm hand makes contact,

as a face grants me a smile,

as words become heavy in the air I breathe

I do not breathe the image, the fantasy, the query

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