anything i love i devour - men, butter mochi, prestige TV. i stay up far too late consuming all of the above. like a flame burning through brushwood, driving ruthlessly toward completion. needing to stop but lacking the willpower. plume of uneasy regret after. i wish i knew the art of savoring, of rationing things out to make them last longer. meting out moments. the artistry of crumbs. what i would give for a better bound appetite, to love safely from a distance.
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