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Fascinating sounds of insects being crushed.

I once knew this boy, he was real nice. The type of guy you are old friends with and smile brightly at everything. You know the “pure” type. The untouched, almost heavenly type of boy that you would secretly wished you were like and even more secretly you wished that you were with. It gets harder to see straight when he is around. It is even harder to stop feeling like you are flying. You close my eyes at night and you fly because you are full of that feeling you seem to rarely get, but some how, some way, you get that feeling. That giddy, “nothing even matters”- feeling that they write pop songs about. The feeling you secretly loath, because all around you there it is, yet you do not feel it unless the “right” person is around. Too bad even with all the hoping and self-indulgent praying you do, you can never find that certain feeling with someone who is available to you. You transport, you use motorways, and tramlines and yet you never find the feeling. Starting and then stopping. Taking off and landing. The emptiest of feelings. Like a bad chemical reaction. Hysterical. Useless. Crushed like a bug in the ground. No sale pitch or media hype given to you. You try to push thing forward and process the luggage and then you decided to leave that to the artful dodgy fucks, who usually hang out with the ducks or birds, depending on sexual orientation. You pull the phone out and you look at the number of past lovers and you decide not to mug yourself after all. The empty feel may be tall, but you decide you can be taller.

You decide you are taller than you ever thought you could be.

Brusies that won’t heal.

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