Reading all my archives and ~secret~ journals has put in me this desperate desire to be my fifteen-year-old self again: silly and silly and silly all over but so contented! and full of love/trust. Not always questioning why and dissecting the life out of everything, not having stupid speculation and criticism as an automatic response to every situation, allowing myself to GET HURT. Recently I prided myself on having practically a conflict-free life and had the audacity to take it as what must surely be a mark of maturity but it’s not it’s just being a CLAM. CLAMS DON’T GET HURT BECAUSE THEY DON’T OPEN. augh. You silly coward hiding behind your smelly superior sheen. Disgustingzzzzz sigh. Want to love and want to live and I hope, really hope I remember how.

oh refuge of my hardened heart/ oh fast pursuing lover come/ as angels dance around your throne/ my life by captured fare you own


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