this is based on an untrue story, a falsity, a habit
of imagination. rather than facts (that is, hard cold information stored
deep in a database) this uses synaptic connections that have
yet to be pruned (as they are maladaptive thoughts, that
only cause problems). every little action gets put through
this wringer of mine, of my brain, each touch (or lack thereof) or
word or breath gets put into the "what-if" machine: what-if you pulled
your pinky away because my hands get too clammy, and you don't
love that any more? what-if you didn't kiss me goodnight because
you're sick of doing that every night? what-if we fall out of love?
what-if i can never stop running through these horrible situations?
what-if these are my downfall? what-ifwhat-ifwhat-ifwhat-ifwhat
then reality starts in again, and i smell your skin as i kiss
your shoulder and realize that the machine has clicked on, and i
throw it out the window of my subconscious. you are here, present,
i am yours and you are mine and that's what is real.
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