The praise is genuinely arousing, but simultaneously hard to handle.

Hahaha! But, see, that’s exactly where the shared weirdness dwells. No one in my personal life on Earth really gives a shit that I write. After all these years a family member will read something I wrote and be shocked that know how to write. I’ve got no one I ever physically talk abut poetry with, much less what I’ve written. Even the women who inspire the words I write aren’t (with one past exception) interested in my words. They don’t know or appreciate me as a writer or poet.

Yet, I’ve never sat down with you, never said “hello” where you could hear, but I know that you are a beautiful person.

Alpha Centauri, it’s a hell of a place.

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