I peel the scabs from my knuckles without fanfare. I patch my hands with electrical tape and superglue before I grab my butterfly knife. I whisper promises to return to my compromised sanctuary. I trace conversations through sent-text strings, while I try to pry answers from winter puddles under a violet sky. A thousand perfect pools of water can't offer up the secrets I seek. I return home reassured but exhausted, shoulders tight from the weight of months. I nod polite greetings to every other non-existant seeker I see on the way. Shrugging away the sublime reward of loneliness without solitude.
9:31 p.m. - 2015-01-26
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