Keep On Walking

Aw geez.

This familiar tug at my fingertips.
To run away. To write you!
To call! To talk to you! To convince you!
Remind you about something.

This tug says: We need to renegotiate something. I think we maybe overestimated how awful I am. You are so wrong. I am nowhere near as bad as we agreed. Yeah, we drew up a contract saying "Max Is A Monster". But I'm checking myself in the mirror and I don't think I'm necessarily that evil. This is not "the real me". Or, if it is, maybe it's not so bad.

When I look at my monster face in the mirror, I can't help but smile.

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