There’s been a hawk circling my house. And around the corner, a brunette threw up in the gutter while her boyfriend went off somewhere with his friends. That’s never been my type of crowd, but then again, I was always a weird kid. It’s only getting worse. My house is my sanctuary and people are coming around less and less. It’s me. I’m pushing them away as far as I can. Living in solitude, growing a healthy fear of what’s normal. Tiny hands reach in and out in a rhythm I’m coming to terms with. I still think about it though, how to show them writing is my thing, my only thing, and nothing else. Along with love of course. But they already know I’m the soft kinda crazy. I personally like to call it passionate. Anyway, no matter how hard I fight it, my bones look just like his. And when we clatter in the moonlight it’s hard to know who’s him and who’s me. As we spin and glitch through time the world drifts around our skulls. To find myself I let out a howl, and as I do he does the same. Only I don’t know if he’s howling to find himself or if he’s howling just to howl with me.

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