Dear T,
If it were pathetic confessions that we were doing…
Is it pathetic anyways, that I happen to see all of this in you?
Maybe it is my inconsequential blabbing whenever we talk these days that is more so.
Maybe what is pathetic is my fear of the none of any of this you saw in me. It shouldn’t matter, but some days it does.
I fear anyways of becoming a despot to my own opinion of myself, embracing all those who favor it, rejecting all those who don’t. Do I do right, do I do right, do I do right by myself? Can I see myself?
But these confessions are true.
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