the cold hands i used to know are gone. and the tingling uncomfort i used to savor was lost a long time ago. all the innocence of inexperience and discovery has flattened out into stale familiarity. sometimes, when i remember the beauty of newness, the face then unmarred by bitterness and instability, i sink into the pool of blissful sighs and choke myself to death, knowing that, sometimes, strangeness can never be recaptured.

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