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being nessasary

a quirky look into being

I’ve set up shop in my boyfriend’s dorm-sized bedroom in Chicago.  Space heater on and sounds from the Red Line weaseling their way through the window, I am subdued and completely clueless as to what to write.  I am incredibly comfy sprawled out on his threateningly amazing bed.  It is softly cooing, “Go back to sleep, sweet Nessa, I will gently cradle you until you rise again.”

I am a trustworthy lady, so why no trust the other queen in my fellow’s life?


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