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Miren Alos
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Alen Larionova
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Can Canana photographed by Pablo Zamora
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photo by seanneil_
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I am bits of this universe — clustered together for a very brief time. As these clustered fragments of existence, I type these words for you to read. You are clustered bits of universe. I am the universe writing to myself. I am myself writing to you, myself. I am both temporary and eternal — ever living, dying, and iterating. I am all and some, and the sum of bits while a fraction of the whole. I am the universe and I simply am and I am never not.
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Today, a stranger told me that they think I am handsome — as they passed by and exited. Why can’t love just stay?
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tom grice
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Putting clothes on in the morning feels like pulling on a mask. I cover my natural, bare self — socks over my feet; boxers over my buns, balls, and long morning self (no time for relief); pants to tame my bulge all the more; a shirt that flows over it all — and my body is now covered, restricted, and acceptable.
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