not much to say. words feel fickle in the face of feelings so insignificant. alive on a planet for now a quarter of a century, with no more to show for my time than the stubble I shave every morning.
I lean on people I love in the midst of the dread. they hold me and I count myself lucky to know their care.
one day at a time. many days, a time for everything. where am I going and why am I still treading water? <<
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