After the shiny promises you've made yourself, filed neatly next to the nevers carved in perfect polished stone you've given yourself, facing the truths you've spared yourself, you run into what is, shaking your head as you do so, because how could you have missed it? It is so big, what is, so genuine. You think it might be heartbreaking but you hold your breath for a second when you instantly know that what is more heartbreaking is the elaborate tale you told yourself and the energy wasted looking for what is real somewhere other than on that shelf, the one lined with flowered contact paper, where you put it so long ago.
What's the craziest thing you've got in your closet?
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Once again, there are so many places I could go to answer this question. However, in my closet are my photo albums which contains the cutest photo of you and I playing Bozo Buckets (by using garbage cans) in the hallway of my old house on Bailey Drive -- and playing on the swing set which used to be in my back yard.
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