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by cjra

i have a girl’s number, and i’m still not quite sure what that means. she’s a teacher. and another girl with a tuft of hair in the middle of her head, younger, told me about the sylvia beach hotel on the coast, where there’s nothing but books and company and shared meals. she had said i’d like it, and she asked me how i speak french. i told her “very badly” in english.

i feel free to ignore the very few men who approach me. i’m free to feel like they want soso badly to impress, that they want something different than just being with someone. that if their words were a flavor, i would say i taste a small bitterness of entitlement between them. it’s been–something–to finally articulate this feeling.

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