🔒 Reparation

How are you feeling is always your opening question & you know me. I always take it the wrong way when you say it like that. I hear you asking for damage reports, the autobiography of this pile of brown rubble bumbling on about his father’s beauty, this chasm splitting the voice in his unkempt head & the one which enters the realm of the living. You are good to me, & this kindness, I think, is not reducible to our plainly economic relation, the yellow carbon receipt at the end of each session a reminder that we aren’t just girls in the park catching up, estimating the cost of our high school errors. I never call you my analyst, because that makes me sound like a body of work, some extended meditation approaching theory, if only asymptotically. Anyways. I’m alright today. I remembered to eat breakfast, & went for

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