you only loved versions of me, the ones you didn’t drove you away, well tell me, how did I love every version of you? especially your most broken ones, the ones that drove everyone else away? does that mean I was the broken one or you just didn’t understand what I called love?

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Anonymous: What gives you the right?

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I was going through my messages and I assume these two are from the same person. I usually don’t answer cryptic, ridiculous, anonymous questions but I’m answering these to make an example.

Seriously? If you’re trying to be funny, it isn’t. If you’re trying to allude something personal, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. If it’s so goddamn important send me an email, a text, or a call. And the anonymity is completely unnecessary, if anything it’s annoying. If you think I know who you are - I don’t, so whatever your message is trying to allude to, it’s not going to come across. If you decide to send these again, remember these are public so include your name so we all know who you are.

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because you work 7 days a week at one job and 6 days a week at the other, we see one another in the morning, at night, and in the in betweens - it makes me sad to see you go when you do, your eyes heavy, your hands calloused, different from a year ago when we both read books together under trees & in comfy chairs, when we only talked about the proletariat, and you think some days I love you less for it, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved the worker more then when I get to comfort him in my arms after a long day

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finally got going on this paper but now all I can think about is our lovely morning, waking up to your sleepy green eyes, our laughter in-between kisses, the feeling of your fingers tracing my skin, closing our eyes to avoid the world outside - stay here a little longer you whispered

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Somehow I’m writing thesis two this year - this time it’s centered around Louisiana and prisons. However the locus is again on humanity and morality like it was in last quarter’s paper. I’m starting to see a definitive theme in my writing and I’m glad I can ground theory in the actual, although I wish I could share these ideas with more people - but no one likes talking theory :| whatever happened to those café I read so much about growing up? the ones with artists and philosophers, with radicals and writers? the love struck, the heart broken, nihilists, humanists, the political, the poets, the alcoholics, the emotionally unstable? the desperate disparate whose conversations somehow always came back to the human condition, the seemingly only topic worth speaking about

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my eyes are heavy from writing all day, I write everything by hand now and only sit at a computer when I need to, which is at the end of the process, I’m tired, stuff never makes sense at the end I need to rewrite it all

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la gente unas veces es egoista, te chupan la energia, se dejan sentir bien mientras que tu te sientes mal, te manipulan a pensar que has hecho algo mal, es cierto - algunas veces tenemos que poner límites, incluso cuando queremos ser amoroso

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