PEOPLE WITHOUT NAMES (1.2)

Captain Morgan, cows, farms, hard drugs. Running from the cops, books on books on books, poems, words, philosophical discussion. Writing drunk emails to your mom, hiding under the covers, frustration, cheering other people on. Dark circles, driving at night, junk food. When you finally get a pose right in yoga, taking on an extra shift at work, needles, blood, Harriet the spy. Knowing something you aren’t suppose to know, escape, finally crying after a long day, the third floor of the library. Dirt roads, yelling at teachers, constellations. That dizzy feeling, that extra sign of the zodiac nobody knew about until now, when you are drunk and wobbly, daffodils, English teachers, herbal supplements. Jars of weed, your natural hair color, bean bag chairs, olives, young love, stick shift. When your car gets towed, being covered in snow, when your makeup is finally off for the day and you can rub your eyes,  getting yourself out of a shitty situation without any help. Stepping in a puddle, typing for hours, expensive shampoos, crazy stories, homemade wine, going to the beach alone. Finding a baby kitten unexpectedly, essential oils, thoughtful gifts, running into someone and in public and running up to them to hug them. Laughing til you cry, writing out all your feels, stick and poke tattoos on the floor of your dorm, screaming “Feeling This” when it comes on the radio. 

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