All these things I write
are a way to talk myself out of it.
A way to force myself to move on.
But the truth wrestles inside me,
the truth of this love,
that it’s just there.
And the vivid dreams.
No matter how much I reason
with my mind
trying to find an explanation,
an understanding.
Nope.
It doesn’t work like that.
What is, is.
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