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I was asked why i continue to live with my problem. I think this morning maybe explains a little..

A wave of it washes over me oddly reminding me of the way arousal would. I feel my cheeks flush, and my hair raise. My eyes feel a little heavier as I settle into the familiar feeling. It is fueled by knowing that whatever ways I might try to show subtly that I could use a friend today, the ones I have will completely miss the feelings behind the words. I also know that the group of strangers I have turned to before will be, perversely, the best friends I have during these times. I can lay open the complex, dirty collection of my thoughts and at least three people will sympathize and say just the right words, where the real people I know would sit slack jawed not comprehending.

"The most tender place in my heart is for strangers

I know its unkind but my own blood is much too dangerous

hanging round the ceiling half the time

hanging round the ceiling half the time."

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