they call each other family and say i’m a part so i sit and observe wanting to believe. i’m like an old abused dog, head and ears pulled down at the slightest hint of quick approach with hands outstretched. they are too kind, so i’m waiting for them to hit me while trying to believe they won’t. they keep giving me treats and something deep down tells me to run, that it’s a trap, that there must be poison in their ingredients. so i run without explanation, disappearing into the perpetually dancing void, wanting to disappear, to be left alone cause even though being left alone hurts, it’s a home that’s been paid for, a home where there’s no need to worry about begging to be pet or waiting to be kicked because you’re in the way. all the while they were creating a shared space before coming to look for me. they said it’s ‘ours’. i want to believe but i can’t. ours is the fantasy, so if i pack my bags and go, no one will be there. there’s no embrace where i live, but there’s also no mortgage.

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