I told my therapist my journaling was unreliable and I showed her the last few pages were just black thick lines I drew. I call them “borders,” I tell her. I don’t like writing every day. I don’t like the minutae.that’s not it either. I walk a lot. she knows that. I spend one to two hours walking around the city aimlessly. it feels like nurturing a need. I do like my apartment and the stained glass windows. I have been rearranging that side room again. I have begun to use the mirror chest as a holder for my brother’s ashes.
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