Written by Anon
I can’t sit still in history class, or at my friend’s sweet 16
Because there’s something about
Hearing other people talk about other people
That stirs something up inside of me
As if my own self is withering in self neglect
The future is only as fragile as
The past is stable.
I navigate through both
with a compass of a heart
Searching, frantic,
My own desperation scares me
Never has the promise of companionship
Seemed so compelling.
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