Oatmeal

12/22/2000. She began to feel ordinary and predictable. Like a bowl of oatmeal everyday. The fine line between reality and fantasy. Blurred. No. It is what it is I cried. And what, may I ask, is that? 12/27/2000. You could never handle me. Sitting above your head. Just an apostrophe. Maybe you excused me instead. […]

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