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What am I going to do with you?

I can’t put you away. I can’t hang you on the wall.

Why’d I have to peek? Why didn’t I just leave you alone?

I drive far away in my mind but then there you are, just around a turn, standing there with a expression on your face that says, “Don’t look surprised. I didn’t choose to be here, asshole.”

You’re that thing in my pocket.
You’re that scent on my collar.

Oh hey, what’s this? Oh yeah. You. 

You are nowhere and everywhere. Untouchable.

Is that what this is really about? Are you just some kind of masochistic safe zone for my coward-heart? A way to feel without risk? If you were standing right in front of me would I just run in the opposite direction? Would I be indifferent?

These feelings are like nuclear waste.

Oh boy. This is messed up stuff. What should we do with it? 
Dump it in the ocean and forget it.

I think Japan tried this. Now big-ass monsters climb out of the depths and demolish its cities occasionally. It’s a bad idea.

You are a curious twinkling star that turned out to be an extinction event comet.

Ignorance is underrated.

This is disturbing.
This is frustrating.
This is ridiculous.

I don’t know what to do with you.

Photo credit: Wikipedia/Jules Joseph Lefebvre: Pandora 1882
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