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This is my secret.

Being here and being unknown. I don’t even need to blog. That’s what angry writing and expressive love scribbling is about…. right? Or maybe not.

If nobody listens to what you speak, reads what you write, or cares enough to right what you wrong what really matters? I think being this lost is supposed to hurt or concern me, instead it feels like Home. I’m comfortable. Anchored down? No, grounded. My heart is my own, and I do know who I am.

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