-and when I open my eyes I'm looking at a wooden stage from blue seats in an auditorium. There's a warm glow to my left and right and I'm listening to Rancid on my IPOD because I'm 17 years old and not yet scared enough. And two men whose faces I can't seem to recall who are both named Jim scream at each other while their faces swell up in tones of puce and brick red. The warmth on either side of me is comforting, but I can tell its not really there. The warmness is in the space between my ears, and I can't explain why but I know things won't be okay. In the-
-down to see bile leaking from my insides while I scribble everything I never thought of the correct way to phrase. This is fear. This is the incorrect placement of the spacial/linear aspect of my body. And I wish on stars I can't see underneath light pollution. But I can't pretend I care about any of this. I'm so unstable and afraid of what-
-let you choose the movie. You've been working hard all day and I'm sure you can't be too excited to still be here but who knows, maybe it's worth it. And at that one part we somehow knew the cue to lace fingers and the hour later when I asked if I could kiss you in front of my dad's car when we got back to your house after the ride home when he told us why the Greeks called it-
-never slept because we were so young and inspired and full of beauty. On the ride home I could see hints of what would come, of the vast emptiness that I wish so hard I could help you escape from. This was before we were too scared to even be in the same room with eachother. This is before we had to try to believe things that used to just make sense. This is the first-
-said that I dug my own grave in this situation.
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