the parts. [excerpts from a book i’ll never write – nineteen.]

some part of me is conscious of loving you.  in another life, in another world, in the future – i don’t know.  i just know i feel it in my bones.  i think you do, too, but it lies under your insecurity, your fear of the unknown.

some part of me would love nothing more than to never utter your name again.  somehow i feel like it give you power – not over me, but over my heart in a way.  in a way that keeps me from putting all the pieces back together again.

some part of me is far too tired to keep going.  that’s the farthest, deepest part of my self.  the part that is buried under stubbornness, drive, diligence, pride.  the part that lies under wanderlust and innocent wonder.

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