I don’t even fucking know you, but I want to.

And even without knowing you, I know how to.

The imperfect difference in knowing, and going.


It lies there like a corpse that no one feels comfortable dressing.


You don’t even fucking know me, but you need to.

And even without knowing me, you will try to.

The obscure resemblance in needing, but leaving.


It burns down like a building with no functional smoke alarms.


a. duncan, 2018

Featured artwork:

White Center (Yellow, Pink and Lavender on Rose) by the brilliant Mark Rothko







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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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