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Let's call it "inspired by true events".

I am experiencing this odd sense of loss lately.
I have this feeling now and again; it is a little different every time.
I play with it for a while and relearn the feeling in my hands. It's malleable and hard... and I can breathe it. Bathe in it and soak it through my skin.

Now it's dry playdough and my childhood rings in the back of my head.
My hands smell like a bleached kitchen. Or a newly woven basket. One of thirty spider plants- all sprung from my sister's last day of kindergarten.
Maybe a pair of dirty Keds.
Wet pavement.

Piss and vinegar, in a jar on the back step.


[This is creative therapy guys, nobody panic.]


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