bookshelves
i feel trapped in this world of words. negatively. i want to go back to things like cacti and bicycles. i forget that i am now an uncle. i forget about buying groceries. i forget about the smell of Leah's hair. i forget about taking care of myself. i am so ready for this to all be done. two more months and then never again. these are our books, stretched over a few seconds. everything is pulled taut and tight. but so much of it doesn't look beautiful like oil paints on four-dimensional canvasses.
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