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beth
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Sometimes, when the night goes bad, I sit alone in the dark and close my eyes to see if I can find the lost pieces of myself. And then I feel myself slipping further away from what I meant to be. I think about all the times I've watched grass grow, and the sun rise, and tried to feel the turn of the earth, and I'm amazed at how it still fascinates me. that simple, pure joys still exist for me for one reason or another, even if I'm beyond help. I listen to the birds, and I lay my palm against the rough bark of an oak and swear I feel warmth just radiating. I am not normal. I am not different. I simply am. It's in these daily realizations that I find what it is I'm looking for, and then again not at all. I grasp the idea and hold it tightly between my fingertips before it drifts away again... and then I'm here again. Staring into a mirror, my cup of tea, or blackness, not sure of anything anymore but that it hurts to cry, and hurts to hold it back, and I touch my face. There I am. Me. A funny comfort in the middle of dissapointment...is that hope?
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020805
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