it certainly is windy in port alice.
i like to haunt my stoop, and wait for a big gust to challenge my resolve in staying upright.
one will come, and i get a little unsteady, and then i throw my arms out to catch my balance.

i wonder when i learned to catch my self.

i wonder when i had the nerve to stop falling.

i turn twenty one in twelve days.
i’m afraid i couldn’t tell you how i’ve changed in the last year.
i’m mostly afraid to tell you because i’ve done little for the better.

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