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"oh, person, person, personhow's that wide river? are the mountains doing fine? can you smell the cottonwoods? is it huckleberry time?"

the next time someone asks, "did i fuck this up?" i'm going to say, "yes." it won't matter if they did. it's a rhetorical question.

i don't like being around people my own age because the comparisons are too easy and i took the wrong road. if you're older and better, i can pretend it's because you're older and there's still time for me.

the truth is, i'm not ashamed or remorseful; i'm terrified.

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for a minute there, i wondered, "how did this happen?" then i remembered: because someone thought i was cute / smart / something. i want the approval, but i don't trust it. do you like me? well let me tell you all there is to know, because if you're ever going to not like me, i want to get it over with now.

i don't want to wake up one day to your realization. but no one does, so i'm not special. and i know i'm not special.

when slade was a newborn, i would hold him and think, "if he's ever going to die, let it be now, before i love him too much."

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when i say "i don't know how," what i mean is, "i never wanted to know, so i didn't learn." but you say, "i'm going to teach you." and i don't protest because even if i don't want to learn - and i don't - i sort of want you to teach me everything.