i’m obsessed with past versions of myself who were happy. i try to emulate them. tr in love was happy. tr throwing dinner parties every week was happy. tr on a train was happy. tr nannying for triplets was happy. tr doing nothing but scouring foreign craigslist and having sex was happy. tr who went to the gym after work everyday was happy. tr in a gallery was happy. they only seem to exist in the past. i never remember identifying as that person while being them. i think in a few months i will look back and think of tr traveling the country on a greyhound bus and borrowed rides as happy and want to be her.
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