i'm not scared that everyone left me in this room alone,
i'm not afraid that the smoke i drew in that i absorbed
is going to wart my insides, i know i'm warted and rashéd.
i also know the man next door wants nothing more
to do with me than the phone conversation he and i shared,
urging him not to shut down, urging him not to forget or
give up.
what i am and what he might be is not an illness. we're not
sick.
we're interesting. we're creators.
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