"I celebrate myself, and sing myself"
I have been dishonest and immature.
"The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odourless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me."
-W. Whitman
I have never sent anything to PostSecret. But today, they had my words.
"This June bug street sings low and lovely."
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