A Collection of Spectacles

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I would hope that you, he, whatever (I don’t want to admit that I care about something, so I’ll try to mask it with various pronouns) don’t care about me the same way I do about other men. I might actually want someone again. For some reason, the idea scares me more than anything.  I like them all, but from a well calculated distance. Sometimes they’re like interchangeable parts, and that’s unfortunate. I don’t want to dress up like a fucking whore tomorrow.

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