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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() It is a stubbornness, this thing that sits on my chest and pulls open my eyes to see that there are still things here for us. There is a home to be built. There is bread to be baked, to be broken with friends, to eat while still warm. There are projects that sit, not even unfinished,
but unbegun in a small attic space in my mind. It is a coldness, this thing that sits on my shoulder, along my spine, in my bones, that whispers in my ear. The work will never be done unless... There will always be more lists to check off unless... There will always be nights like this one unless... We’ll all be dead in the long run. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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