there are things that seem crucial sometimes, like lamplight through dusty screens, like the sound of water falling into the sink, like the soft songs of girls who can't sing.
i'd live out another winter here; i just worry it'd go like the last, and the last before. friendships here don't open up like i'd like them to. people don't relax and smile at you like they should. i am still uncomfortably wearing this big city skin.
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