insect


      I keep carrying this shattered glass on my hunch back, in my dreams I'm Quasimodo looking for a     place   to hide from my mediocrity, this mediocrity you hated so much, all that emotional clutter you could never bare to see.

     The thought of you seeing me this naked disgusts me to the point I want to vanish. I imagine   Gregor Samsa  felt this useless when he realized he was nothing   but a disgusting insect.  


    I can't love you.




   I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.




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