I want to go back to London and live in a queer warehouse community, write poetry about tube lines and hard bricks and complain about the taps and drink too much tea that I pay less than 5 quid for, and eat too much potatoes and kiss my friends and do tarot readings and not think about my ex and maybe just find some space that can overlap with other people so I feel less like I am overflowing with all of this love and all of this time and existence. And hold hands platonically. And sleep.
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