Hungry, lusting for foods I've never heard of. Stomach rumbling at the smell of things foreign to me. I woke up crying, calling out a name I didn't recognize. I'm sorry, but I'm sure it wasn't yours. For a moment, it may have been, but my gut is a pit of quicksand, sucking down comforting yet confounding inclinations. That, you are. My heart is big and open - But maybe it's not. It's a two-way mirror, dodging penetration. It controls the switch that flips in me with the clacking of permanence. I felt it before I heard it; I listened to it before I told you it was there. Doubt and fear, they pull at it with fingers in a panic, but there isn't any use. I know this as truth by now. These are my inner workings, after all. As loud as you scream that you deserve to understand, I can't explain it clearly. A blueprint doesn't exist to navigate the depths of my perceptions. I have begged for one, filling pages with words like drops in the ocean, until I"m struggling to stay afloat. I've slinked beneath the bed on the edge of dreamless sleep, digging through the thoughts and things I've discarded there throughout the years. Grasping at memories until I find what lies at the bottom of the box, that moment of "Ah ha;" It lingers until it's gone like smoke, and whatever I discovered buried there, I may never know. Sometimes that's just how it's supposed to be. Other times it tortures me. Choppy like rough seas, grating my shells down into sand. These inner workings, turning and churning bits of star dust into everything I hope I am. .
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