Part of me doesn’t believe you even exist.

Obviously, you exist. We speak, or at least we spoke. I’ve seen your face, but I’ve only seen it at the same repeated angle in the same reused photos. I know you live in a real place, but the context has no consistency. There is no solidity to anything about you. There never will be. And I think I like it that way.

Posted on Thursday 1st March 2012 with 2 notes
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