I found myself unquestionably intact,
which confused me.
This is not supposed to be a fact,
not supposed to be something
that you can use against me.
Stop reading.
Go away.
It's too late; the barriers like publishing
have fallen away,
and something has else has taken its meaning.
A dauntlessness, a fire that recognises all your invalidating
invulnerability;
a 24-year-old fool who still wants it to be called
A Glimpse of the Sea.
A lost brown aracial child who didn't have anything, and who suddenly had A Merlion for His Majesty.
A deeply cauterised mule who had no word in the Kristang language for gay, and then it became destiny.
A Merlionsman who first became Another Dreamtiger, and then pure fuel for fantasy.
I quit what isn't real.
I never disregard what I feel.
I keep what has healed,
and become more than The Field,
more than a Looking Glass,
more than This Stirring Love, and all those other kinds of zeal
put to the table.
No wholesomer meal
has ever existed, and yet
I know just how hard it is for you to accept
that this is a big deal;
this is a reset.
But no worries.
Keep it to yourself.
High Charity and all that;
one day, the road to Voi will take it all back.
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