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‘And clenching your fist for the ones like us
Who are oppressed by the figures of beauty
You fixed yourself, you said: Well, never mind
We are ugly but we have the music.’
—
“It’s not that I don’t love you, CJ. I just—I wish you were easier to love.”
She doesn’t remember a lot about being twenty nine. It comes and goes, and she wonders if what she remembers happened when she was twenty nine, or twenty four, or twenty seven. However, she’s certain she was told that at twenty nine.