im not satisfied. i’ve met wonderful people, miraculous people, friends and lovers and interchangeable beings that are so full of goodness it aches a part of me no one had attempted to define, and things still feel subpar. i don’t want to be here, this vicinity, this skin. i don’t like being stuck in memory. i want out, but where’s out? what good is out? what solace or shrapnel of hope is there if ceaselessly running away?