andrea scrima

And what about that almost violent urge to be alone, to have all one’s things about one, and not someone else’s, no one else’s socks on the floor, or clothes draped over chairs, an urge experienced only by those who have stayed too long, or those too long alone. It haunts me still, follows me into my dreams, and again I am sifting through things, finding shirts that do not belong to me and resolutely placing them in a pile with all of the other things that do not belong to me for the purpose of being hauled away. A reminder to maintain vigilance, a warning not to glance backwards and tumble down the slope before I’ve reached the other side.

How hard it is to separate: like prying apart magnets. How two people grow into one another over time, bring about a blurring of boundaries, a force field of…

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