• Endria Richardson

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the hardest days come when you take a long look back at yourself and see how simple you are. you see those old hurts that you thought were closed just breathe under the skin. you see those old angers against every person open up and eat you alive and you go down swinging but damn you go down. like seeing the bright stream of light go by you and youll never know how those people just beam right onto it like they were made for it. goddamn beautiful bright light youll never be on but for a second of your time.

its like switchin on the light in the infinite room and seeing all four of your normal fucking blank walls staring at you, no farther apart than your wingspan. all this time you thought you were sitting in a space bigger than imagination and you could have reached out in any direction and scraped your knuckles on the paint.

i am a simple woman. sometimes i forget, but i always remember.

because i’m feeling self-indulgent:

Listen, I know when I can leave and when to come back down again. I am good. I have lent my shirt at least as many times as I can count to other men. I can remember how to see black trees standing at my window at night, the dead man flayed beneath the skin of my face, and reeds. But all I want is to shut my body into doors, close the dead moon on my head, let my soul clamber down onto its knees and try to touch God for me.

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