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what happens when

I'm supposed to go back to real life and stop ordering boxes of things I don't need? I have tubes of creams and makeup that are unused, as if I raptured while no one was looking. I stopped doing, and started being.


What happens when I have to face the busy word with lights and fires I can't put out, and coffees that I can't afford to buy and jobs that make me feel trapped?


How do I. Breathe.


I loved the pause that was forced on me, as if the world had put the brakes on and stopped at the top of the hill and caught the view for a while; we kissed, we bought clothes that felt like a second skin, we learned how to bake bread, we broke up, we made babies, we let ourselves be entertained for a while when the fires were still burning.


And the fires still burn, but we need to walk through them somehow.

Am I ready? Are we ready? I want to love, I want to hold people, I want to sink into the folds of someone's neck without the crowds telling me I need to be purposeful. My purpose is to be, and maybe I'm not ready to be, so publicly.


But when? When will I be ready


and


what happens then?


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