companions of this existence

I have become far too used to this life.

This is  the life where I don’t wash the lonely off in the shower, don’t watch it circle the drain and with a final desperate gasp,


This is the life where my lonely comes to bed with me, curls around me, rests its hand over my heart as if to remind it, too, of what that means, why it’s here, and the only thing in the whole world,

that will make it leave.

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