still getting over

It is humbling and important to realize that not only am I not half as fascinating as I once thought I was, I bore you.

I remember being not exactly what you wanted. I remember hoping you could learn to love me anyway. I remember finding out you couldn’t, and I remember rehearsing in the rear-view mirror just how I’d tell you off.

I never did. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do a lot of things, like sit down, shut up, pretend it was all okay.

The transit strike is unstruck, the world is full of heretics (thank God), and I’m still getting over you, you pathetic little lump.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.