The people in my head: “Mr. Yarbrough?”

Life was white-washed, glazed over and, while pleasant, fictitious. It read like fiction. The best way I can describe it: I felt like my spirit was constantly hanging half-way outside of my physical body, and I couldn’t figure out how to reel it back in and contain it. I couldn’t contain it because I wasn’t familiar enough with its true character to recognize it, and I definitely wasn’t open-minded enough to accept and welcome it for who it was.. and it knew that.

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