…or I lost myself to a few steps away–from an obsession of feeling, of imagining, of lurking–to anything that thwarts, moves or pulls; now that I can forget everything, and relearn only when I want to understand again why I am here, where I am going; and know that I’ll go back to feeling, imagining, lurking–to anything that thwarts, moves, pulls. Again.
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a bunch of dreadfully common-looking flowers 
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