When I lived in Missouri, I sort of believed in Angels and Devils. When I lived no where else, I thought my convictions were strong. When I lived near my parents, I thought I was sane. When I lived near my family, I thought I had roots. When my friends were around me, I thought I was loved.
When I lived in Missouri, I longed for excitement. I yearned for sex with beautiful men, for fun, for a life that to me, for me, has always been unreachable and unrealistic. Now I just want calm, sleep, and to write un-interrupted. But I don’t think this will happen soon.
What has happened? Where am I going?
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