i am…passion.

whilst reading through one of my old journals i stumbled upon the passion i always speak of. the passion i thought i lacked. the passion i actually possess in what seems to be an inexhaustible amount.

the kind of passion that becomes dormant when untouched, unexcavated. i wrote about my ex the way 18th century writers wrote about seeing a woman’s wrist. As if it was the most passionate, glorious love-filled exeperience one could have.

i am passion. i run so deep that i exalt at all there is left to uncover

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