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Everyone I love has scars.
If you dont remember the last time you had a bruise or a cut then I feel sorry for you.
If you don’t fall at least once a week doing something stupid then something is wrong.
I pity anyone who has an office 10 floors above the city.
I pity anyone who has never LITERALLY spent thier last dollar.
I pity anyone who has never ran from a security guard on foot.
And anyone whos never driven home at 3 a.m. with a busted lip, torn shirt and a stupid smirk on thier face.

We are getting older and we still have no idea what we’re doing and I love that. We dont know what we want, where to get it or who to even share it with. We hang out with the wrong crowd on the wrong side of town in the wrong frame of mind. The fences we jump are getting taller and taller and the nights are always longer than the days. 

   Thats who we are. We are nobodies and thats a wonderful feeling sometimes. We have bad brains and even worse credit scores. We have scars.  We are down and out, down for anything, up to no good and our bad habits are the best memories.

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I felt a pull from offshore – from where I watched the sun press back into the earth just moments ago. A beckoning that felt as if it had wrapped its cold fingers around the bottom of my ribcage and dragged my torso into the waves. I felt my father out there among the tide, and layers of him surfaced and crashed back into each other again and again and nothing could possibly stop it – nothing I could fathom.  Every wake breaking into my chest was a funeral.  And the trees behind me howled in the wind and the lights of the hotels flickered and there was people along the boardwalk crying and laughing and fucking –  but here under the waves, under the creaking oak of haunted ships,  and between the endless limbs of leviathan – was the quieting of everything eternally.

Excluding me.

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