You joke about this fort I’ve made for myself. How I treat my days so delicately , never really letting anyone stop by for too long. It’s all a novelty, this bliss I find in being a recluse. I’m, angry because you have taken the time to pull the truth from whatever string of nonsense falls out of my mouth. You’re a scientist these days, and see right through my elaborate facades. Things are never going to be the way they once were. You hold my hand and we sit.
“ You see, this is nice.”
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