torn sheets from notebooks, napkins stained with time, and wrinkled scraps of paper that yellow in aging notebooks. my collection. they catalog seasons of thinking and wondering. love, purpose, acceptance, success, passion, fear, desire, pain, sacrifice, deception. mere ramblings that drone on... my own coarse philosophy evolved over days and nights of anguish, ennui, and euphoria. these remnants of thoughts all recorded on soaked bedsheets. deliciously salty. soiled in weakness, scorched by candlelight, and wet with weeping. i am inamorata.

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